RV's Are The Fu$*ing Worst.

I was having some trouble deciding how I was going to start this post; a bit of writers block if you will. The introduction for a post really sets the tone for how the rest of it will read, you know? I tried a couple of different variations on opening paragraphs and ended up scrapping them as they just didn’t really capture the essence, the feel of what I’m going for. It got to the point where I even considered starting this post the same way a class president begins his graduation speech, before waxing poetic about the monumental accomplishment of passing 12th grade without getting pregnant or maid of honor opens her toast, before proceeding to ugly crying through a story about the summer she and the bride spent discovering themselves in Spain; by quoting Merriam Webster’s Dictionary.

Yes. I know. I’m the worst.

However, as I wallowed in a puddle of my own self loathing whilst typing ‘Recreational Vehicle’ into the search bar at the top of merriam-webster.com and considered throwing myself into a reservoir, I was saved at the last moment. I was saved, not because Messrs. George and Charles Merriam and Noah Webster had anything particularly enlightening to provide on the matter; they define recreational vehicle simply as “a vehicle designed for recreational use (as in camping)”, which is exactly as boring and shitty as expected.

No, the gem proffered up by merriam-webster.com came not in the form of their definition, but from the ‘Recent Examples on the Web’ section by way of this headline:

There it is. That’s what I was struggling to capture in my introductory paragraphs. The thing that exactly captures the true essence of RVs and sets the proper tone that I want this post to follow; A news article from Texas about a drug felon stabbing a police dog in the face.

If you were somehow unclear on my feelings about RV’s up to this point we aught to be on the same page by now.

But just to be really, totally sure I’ve been clear enough: RV’s are stupid and suck, there is literally no reason you should ever consider taking a trip in one. If you are thinking about renting an RV to take a road trip in. Don’t. You would be much better served doing an activity that has at least an outside possibility of a positive or enjoyable outcome; such as performing unnecessary abdominal surgery on yourself with dirty kitchen utensils.

I didn’t have a benevolent and wise blog writer to warn me before I made the mistake of taking an RV trip, but you do. Listen to my tale and live a fulfilled remainder of your life not going in an RV.


My tale begins in the long ago year of 2018. A simpler time. A time of innocent wonder and unspoiled joy. My wife and I decided we- actually hold on.

This is bothering me so lets sort something out here; I went back and read that article. The police dog that the drug lady stabbed is fine. Turns out the stabbing was done with some sort of a plastic handled eyebrow trimmer. Officer McBarker (my name for him, not theirs) was treated for minor injuries and returned to duty the following day. Frankly I wasn’t going to be able to concentrate for the rest of this story without knowing if the dog was alright.

Right, now that we’ve covered that, back to my story.


For our summer vacation in 2018, my wife was fretting a lot about spending too much money on a trip plus having to make arrangements for our dogs while we were away. My cousin who lives in Florida was going to be getting married in July, so we figured we would combine our vacation with that. Originally we were looking at Universal Studios in Orlando, since they’ve got that Harry Potter world and f*#k you if you don’t think waving wands at stuff and going to Diagon Alley the best way to spend your week off if you are a 30 year old man. Because of the aforementioned cost and dog separation anxiety however, we were getting nowhere fast with making any firm plans.

That is, until I had the idea that will haunt me to my grave. Fresh off our previous year’s camping extravaganza which you can read about in I Pooped in the Woods, I thought perhaps we could do something new and different for our vacation this year. It is at this point that I would really have appreciated the sage advice of some a#@hole on the internet to tell me and my ideas to f*#k right off. I didn’t get that though, which is why I proposed the idea of renting an RV and road tripping it down the east coast and back for our vacation.

It’ll be more inexpensive than dealing with airfare, hotels, resorts and boarding the dogs I thought. It’ll be a cool opportunity to see some of the country I thought. It won’t be the living embodiment of my worst nightmare set to the score of five hundred podcasts in a row, all while a tiny horned devil stabs me over and over again in the bank account, I thought.

As clearly neither of us is a sane person who can recognize a sh*t-turd of an idea when it’s dancing in front of us in an unbuttoned trench coat with it’s shriveled d*ck waving in the breeze, my wife was all about the RV idea.

We found a site that works kind of like Air BnB for Recreational vehicles in that people that own them can rent them out to vacationers. You pay a security deposit, then you pay a cost per-night to rent the RV and take it around camping and whatnot. Seemed simple enough, and most of the ones available were pet friendly, which meant we could take the dogs with us no problem.

Enter the harbinger of my doom. The 2009 Coachman Prism.

prism.jpg.pagespeed.ce.PCNnMel3A7.jpg

This is the RV we ended up renting from a private owner, lets call him Charles. We’ll call him that because that’s his name. Things started out innocuously enough, all of the preliminary things you might expect went without incident. We had a meetup with Charles to do a walkthrough of the RV so we’d know how everything worked and so he could explain the various ins-and outs of our rental agreement with us. Nothing out of the orinary: (x) amount of miles per rental day are included and anything over that is a few cents per mile, bring it back clean, bring it back with the sewage and grey water tanks empty to avoid extra fees, you have comprehensive insurance through the rental agreement and complimentary roadside assistance, so on and so forth.

Before the appointed trip we plotted a course that looked roughly like this, booking stays in RV campgrounds down the East Coast:

We rented the RV near our home, but we would start the actual road-trip out in York PA after attending a wedding we had out that way on the front end of the vacation. Two weddings, one on either end of our vacation? Yep. we’re at that annoying age where everyone we f&ing know is getting married and for some reason expects anyone else to give a sh!t about it.

(If you are one of the people who’s wedding I attended at some point in the recent past I of course don’t mean you. Your wedding was magical and unique and is the exception to the rule. It wasn’t a huge inconvenient chore and I didn’t hate every second of having to shout over the f*#^ing music in order to make small talk with a table full of strangers for three hours. Your wedding was a treasure.)

Our first official stop was Shenandoah National Forest, then we would make our way south visiting Virginia Beach, followed by a place in the middle of some insignificant woods in a town called Moncure North Carolina because it split the travel time up on the way to the next stop and North Carolina contains nothing of value to society. Charleston South Carolina, Savannah Georgia, Another State Park near the Georgia/Florida border, and then the gulf coast of Florida for the wedding to finish the trip south and a straight shot back home to round out the vacation.

Guess where we made it to on that blue trip outline before things turned to sh*t?

Capture.PNG

The first day of our trip just happened to be the hottest day of the summer and apparently in all of recorded spacetime history because it was 110 degrees outside from about 9:30 am on.

By the time we pulled in to our campsite around 4:30 in the afternoon we had been out of range of any cell service for at least 40 minutes and it was so hot we were concerned there was a real possibility of the dogs getting heat stroke. We plugged in, hooked up and connected all of the do-dads for the RV and tried to get the AC going to cool it off. After about an hour of the AC running full tilt the inside of the RV had gotten down to about a cool and comfortable 185 degrees Fahrenheit which led us to become become convinced that in our infinite stupidity we must have been doing something wrong that the vehicle wouldn’t cool down. Since it was just as hot outside as it was in the vehicle, our concern for the dogs continued to grow until we packed all the sh!t back into the RV and drove towards civilization until we could get cell reception to call Charles to figure out what we were doing wrong.

Charles’ response was to comfort us with the fact that “it’s just like that” and to get the RV to cool down all you have to do is wait for it to not be so hot outside. Well f*#$ing thanks, Charles. Glad we' drove an additional hour and a half for the sage advice that we should just stew in our own taint sweat until the sun goes away so it won’t be quite so hot.

Maybe my expectations for the level of comfort in an RV were not set appropriately, and that’s on me. Maybe I was expecting to hang out in a comfy 71 degrees indoors even if it was roughly the same temperature as the sun’s surface outside and that was unreasonable; but the casual nature with which Charles informed me that if it was hot outside it was just going to be sh!tty and hot in the RV when my wife was fretting over a pair of dogs so overheated they looked like partly deflated beach balls sort of pisses me off.

By the time we got finished with traveling, setting up and then disassembling the RV, driving back to cell service and turning around to go back to the campground we had exactly enough time to cook dinner in the fire pit and turn in for the night. In other words, day one of the RV road trip and things were shaping up to be a real party.

Not captured in frame here are the 15 naked children that were faffing about in the river at all times.

Not captured in frame here are the 15 naked children that were faffing about in the river at all times.

We had just enough time the following morning explore the campground and take a roughly 30 minute hike along the river. The campsite was nice, if sunburnt older folks with their shirts off, unleashed dogs and combination clothesline/satellite-dish/barbecue grill with underpants hanging all over them is your aesthetic. We lasted that 30 minutes before the heat and approximately 1,294,234,121,853,000.2 bug bites from mosquitoes forced us to pack it up and head on to the the next campsite.


On day two we traveled to our second stop, a state park near Virginia Beach. Upon arrival at the campground while I was going to check in to our spot at the ranger station, another couple of RVers checking in informed me the muffler on our vehicle was hanging kind of low. After we parked I called Charles and sent him a picture of the muffler and he confirmed that it didn’t look right and that I should call the roadside assistance that comes with our rental.

It was at this point I discovered that what they mean in all the information they give you about your “total coverage” and “free roadside assistance” is that you are totally covered and completely free to call their hotline and have a lovely conversation with someone about your broken down RV. If you want someone to actually f*#@ing DO something about it you are responsible for covering that out of pocket.

After about an hour on the phone convincing the people that, no, I could not make a service appointment at a local garage and bring it in to look at because I was on vacation in a rented RV and was supposed to be travelling five hours to North Carolina the following morning they agreed to send a service truck out to deal with the issue. We made an appointment for 10 A.M the the next day for them to come out since we were scheduled to be out of the campsite by 11 sharp and on our way.

At 11:30 the next day the service person called me to tell me they were fifteen minutes away. I told them I’d meet them in the parking lot outside the visitors center since we needed to vacate our campsite. This was when we started the RV up and one of the tire pressure gauges informed us one of our tires was mostly flat… F*#k. At least we already had a service truck on the way.

One hour and 80 dollars later we pulled out of that parking lot with both issues solved. Sort of.

First, apparently the muffler had been replaced fairly recently, but not done properly. Basically, it was suspended from the bottom of the vehicle by nothing more than a metal peg, rubber grommet and wishful thinking. the peg didn’t even fit all the way into the rubber grommet anyway so it was double sh*t. Here is a diagram:

muffler.jpg

Since he couldn’t actually do anything to properly fix a muffler installed by an incompetent donkey while in the parking lot of a campground, he just took a bunch of mechanic’s wire and strapped it on there to keep it in place for the duration of our trip.

As for the tire, he was pretty sure it was probably not punctured anywhere. He pointed out to me that there is a cover called a wheel simulator that goes over where the lug nuts are on the wheel. Its just a hubcap looking thing that protects the wheel. The one on the tire that was low on air was missing. This, he said, allowed the stem valve to wobble a bit and the cap to come loose, letting air out of the tire. He put air in it and sent us on our way.

Remember the bit here about this mechanic telling me that the wheel simulator was missing. Remember it forever. Burn it into your memory so that when you close your eyes and lay down to sleep tonight the last thought you have before drifting into the sweet embrace of unconsciousness is that in the summer of 2018 in the parking lot of a national park near Virginia Beach a mechanic pointed out that the cover was missing from one of the wheels of the RV that I rented from a man named Charles.


Here’s that map again, just so we’re all on the same page about the progress we’ve made on our adventure so far:


Any wild guesses as to how far we made it before we had problems again?

Go on, guess. I’ll wait.

map3.jpg


By the time we got to our next campsite and gave the tires a chance to cool down, the tire pressure had dropped by about 10 lb from where it had been that morning after the mechanic inflated it.

So now we’ve confirmed for sure there is for sure something wrong with one of the tires and I’ve got to start the process over of making the 100% Free™ phone call for our comprehensive coverage roadside assistance team so that they can do us the huge favor of calling a local mechanic for us who we are then responsible for paying to fix someone else’s RV. I don’t know what portion of the fee that this RV rental site takes goes towards paying the salary of a person who’s job is to type “roadside mechanic” followed by a zip code into google maps; but it’s too f*@#ing much, I can tell you that.

Oh, and did I mention that on this, our second breakdown in two days, by the time we got through the process of getting roadside assistance it was 9 pm on July goddamn 3rd? Because by the time we got through the process of getting roadside assistance it was 9pm on July goddamn 3rd.

A mechanic got there at about 10:30 and determined that the stem valve for that tire was old and dry rotted, causing it to crack which was letting air out of the tire.

He then proceeded to fire up an air compressor that was roughly the same decibel volume as a medium sized aircraft taking off and use the worlds loudest pneumatic impact drill to remove our tire, take everything apart, install a new stem valve and replace everything over the course of about an hour during which time apparently every other resident of the RV park called management to complain that someone was doing their best impression of constructing a fly by night carnival in the dark.

Despite the fact that the entire process disturbed an entire campground of people by being so loud that we had to peel out of there at 6 am the next morning rather than face any of the other residents, that mechanic deserves a f@&ing medal for coming out that late on the eve of the Holiday, being super cool and then proceeding to charge me $35 for the whole thing. 30 bucks for the trip out, 5 bucks for the valve he replaced. In addition to his fee, I gave him a 6 pack of beer because I couldn’t risk giving him any more actual cash in case I needed it to keep paying mechanics for fixing this six wheeled recreational sh$t wagon.


I did some extensive googleing to weight the pros and cons of a few options we had at this point. It turned out to be too cost ineffective to just turn around and drive home, then buy a plane ticket to fly to my cousin’s wedding. The other option was to put a brick on the accelerator and drive the RV into a ravine. I figured it would at least be cathartic to see how well the comprehensive full total insurance policy that came with our rental handled the RV being destroyed and in a ravine. It seemed risky though; the available data suggested they would likely just call a place that sells RVs and offer to give them my credit card and social security number to help me out in purchasing the replacement.

It seemed the only option was forward.

The next four days passed without incident, and I mean that in both the sense that the f*#@ing RV at least didn’t break down again for those four days, but also in the sense that as it turns out an RV road trip just consists of Driving an RV for several hours a day and then being in a place with nothing to do except be in an RV for the rest of them


We made it to Florida and attended my cousin’s wedding, spending one night in a a pet friendly hotel since we couldn’t leave the dogs in the RV while we were at the event. It was, perhaps the single bright spot amidst the otherwise desolate hellscape of sh*t that was the rest of the trip.

Our return trip was to be a single shot straight up the coast and back home, with the option of breaking somewhere for the night if we determined it was too much to do all together. It should have taken us 17 hours to make the trip. It took 25.

Apparently when you’re in a turd bus that gets 12 miles to the gallon and have to fill up every fifteen minutes you don’t make great time.

By about hour 16 it was one in the morning and we were somewhere in one of the Carolinas. I had sent Emily to bed, insisting I would settle in for the long haul through the better part of the night. Fueled by rage, energy drinks and downloaded podcast episodes I was plugging my way north when a car comes speeding up behind us, pulls up alongside me and starts flashing their lights and honking.

Guess what didn’t hold up until we made it home? If your guess was THE F*$#ING MUFFLER AGAIN, YOU WIN!

I was not waiting at one in the morning on the side of a highway for someone to come a deal with this godforsaken disappointment on wheels one more time. I drove that f*$#ing RV five miles an hour in the shoulder for 1/4 of a mile to the nearest exit dragging the muffler on the ground until I could get into the parking lot of a closed down gas station where I proceeded to crawl around under the RV on my back and reattach the stupid mechanics wire to get the muffler back in place. I then drove in silence through the night and into the day for another nine hours listening for the sound of a muffler falling off and hitting the ground.

By that point, If I had seen even a slightly steep wash out on the side of the road that had aspirations of being ravine-like I’d have driven that b#tch right into it and ended it all. I did not though, so we arrived back at our house at about 10:30 the day after we left un-ravined.


One would have thought that the endless nightmare of the RV trip would be over once we finally got it home. Not so. We had to bring the vehicle back to Charles to fill out all the paperwork and do an inspection.

Charles, who not only did not show the slightest sign of empathy, or acknowledgement that he rented us an RV with bits literally falling off it. Charles, who agreed to deduct the costs of the roadside repairs I had to make to his improperly maintained vehicle from our bill as if he were doing us a huge favor. Charles, who hit us with every additional fee possible, several of which were incurred exclusively because we had to alter our itinerary because of the breakdowns.

Charles. Charles, who walked around to the tire that I’d had to have looked at twice and replaced at 11 at night on July 3rd and asked what happened to the wheel simulator and then insisted one of the mechanics had removed it and forgotten to put it back on and I had not corrected this mistake. The stupid cap that the first guy had specifically told me was missing. The cap that was pretty clearly missing in a picture we took of that side of the vehicle before the trip. The cap that will haunt my nightmares for the rest of my natural life. That cap. He held our security deposit and then billed us $200 for a new one.

So yea. Charles.


At this point, you might be saying to yourself “We’ll, alright. You rented an RV that turned out to have a bunch of problems. Thats not indicative of the RV experience in general.”

Fair point, reader. Here are the other highlights of our RV trip with the breakdowns excluded:

  • Stopping for gas every 2 hours

  • Not being able to use any of the appliances because they trip the breakers in the RV.

  • Eating 80% uncooked potatoes for diner because you spent one of the nights in a place that doesn’t allow fires and as previously mentioned, the electrical system can’t run any of the appliances.

  • Hitting your elbows 400 times a day when trying to shower in a coffin with the water pressure of a dehydrated pervert trying to spit on you.

  • Sweating even while indoors.

  • Silence because your wife is asleep, since being unconscious is better than the living hell that is driving this f*@#ing RV and you can’t both sleep, so at least someone should get some reprieve from the suffering.

  • Camping, except shitty because instead of actually camping your in shitty RV surrounded by 400 other people who are either late middle aged couples with an aversion to shirts and a love of turquoise jewlery and not showering or families with twelve children under the age of 6 forcing you to question whether or not its biologically possible for a woman to have two euteri.

  • Road-tripping except shitty because your driving a bus sized living room that runs on diesel and tops out at about 60 and instead of something cool your destination is an RV park.

  • Touching a literal sh*t tube every day or so so that you can insert it into a hole in the ground that 1,235,243,676 other people’s sh*t tubes have touched since the last time anything resembling sanitation was conducted.

  • Sleeping on a pull out bed so bad it’t literally convex at a 45 degree angle in the center

  • Being ten feet from a toilet which is little more than a plastic covering over an open pipe to a sewage tank that you can smell from anywhere in the vehicle at any point in time.

  • Campfires

Even if the RV hadn’t broken down a bunch of times on us. An RV is nothing more than a combination of camping and staying in a hotel where you make a big pro and con list of both things, throw out all the pros, mash all the cons together and then take a sh*tty trip where everything is a worse version of the regular version.

Camp or don’t. There is no acceptable inbetween and anyone who tells you differently is wrong and should feel bad about their dumb incorrect opinion.

If you were ever considering taking an RV trip, you’ve now been adequately educated. You’re Welcome.


P.S

Charles came after us for a 4 dollar toll that apparently the EZ pass had missed about a month after we had settled all of our bills. And then just charged our credit card without waiting for me to respond to his message about the toll.

That’s how I found out from the review section of his rental page that a person who had rented the RV the weekend after us posted a low star review and commented, warning people to take pictures of everything on the outside of the vehicle before their rental, and wishing they had thought to do so.

Now, I’m not saying that’s proof that Charles knew full well about that wheel cover and is scamming people, who don’t notice it’s missing ahead of time and keeping party of their security deposit. But he’s definitely doing that and I hope someone drives his RV into a Ravine.

Archived Post: Ask a Husband #3: Bed Etiquette

This is the third and final post from the original Ask a Husband section of the site from back when I first launched in 2015 that I have been reposting to get them out of the digital graveyard. If you haven't seen the others number one is here and number two is here.


Ask a Husband #3: Bed Etiquette

Originally posted August 8th 2015

Got a few questions all along the same theme for this one:

“How can I get my man to stop farting atomic bomb level farts in his sleep.”

— Courtney W.

Well Courtney, I've got a couple of thoughts.

Solution 1: Go to the store and purchase industrial strength gasX or another similar product. Begin crumbling it up and sneaking it into his food daily. This is a great option for those fussy significant others who won't take their pills, and it's a lot less fattening for your man than rolling them up in slices of cheese.

Solution 2: A wine cork is probably just about the right diameter.


“Why do I have to share my feelings if she won’t share the blanket?”

— Dave M

You're right Dave. how can you be expected to open up emotionally when you're exhausted all the time from not getting a good night sleep because your partner is pulling a burrito on you every night?

This could be you.

This could be you.

I recommend investing in one of those  mummy sleeping bags. It will solve both your problems. In bed, you'll never have to worry about getting the covers yanked off you, as you'll be enveloped in a nylon and synthetic papoose of body heat trapping goodness. 

As for your issues with emotional vulnerability, just keep the sleeping bag on. It's swishy embrace will simulate the safe space of your mother's womb allowing you to get in touch with your emotions in a way you never thought possible. 

In fact, just keep it on all the time. Live your life as a gigantic manarpillar, inching around on the ground, constantly swaddled in your own personal security blanket. Flop through life as a limbless invertebrate until the day comes for you to encase yourself in a gargantuan human sized cocoon made from stitched together parts of other sleeping bags in order to undergo a glorious metamorphosis from which you will emerge reborn.

On second though, you'd scrape your face all up inching around all the time. Just buy a flat sheet and comforter for the next size up to the bed you have the extra width will make it so that there is plenty of extra on the sides to protect you from a severe covers hog.


“The snoring is KILLING me! What do I do to stop it?! I haven’t gotten a good night sleep in weeks!”

— Exhausted

  Well, Exhausted... You might think to yourself, "Hey, this is probably the sort of question that would have been better posed to some sort of medical professional."

It just so happens you are in luck. Seeing as this is the internet...

As you can see by my completely real medical license I am in fact 1,000% qualified to help you with your problem.

Anyone who knows anything about modern medicine knows that snoring is caused by what is known as T.A.G syndrome. T.A.G is an acronym for the three combined causes of snoring. Built up toxins in the body, an out of balance Aura, and excessive amounts of undigested gum.

In order to cure your partners snoring you should follow these medically proven steps:

  1. First you need to hard boil a dozen eggs and then leave them to soak in a pot full of vinegar and mayonnaise (actual mayo, not miracle whip. Don't be an asshole). Set that in your basement for two to three weeks depending on how severe the snoring is.
  2. Once the eggs have had time to properly soak, have your snoring partner eat two a day for six days in the morning and night. (The vomiting and diarrhea are normal that's the toxins leaving the body.)
  3. After the sixth night of the egg purge load up a pair of white tube socks with cinnamon applesauce. Have your loved one cram their feet on in there and get into bed.

If all of that fails, you can always resort to the cork method as proposed in the response to our first reader's question. (It is strongly recommended that you use a different cork.)


That's all for this installment of Ask a Husband, hopefully I've helped a few folks out there with some sleeping arrangement issues. It warms the heart to know there are some good folks out sharing a bed like champs thanks to my sage advice.

Until next time, my friends.

Archived Post: Ask a Husband #2: The No Spouse Rule

This post was originally put up on a portion of the site that no longer exists. The content that was on there has been archived for the past few years, but I decided to put it up rather than let it rot for eternity. This is the second of these archived reposts. You can start from the first one here.


Ask a Husband #2: The No Spouse Rule

Originally Posted July 20 2015

Spouseless writes:

“A few months ago, when planning a group event with about 6-7 people one member of the group laid down the “no spouses allowed” rule meaning it was a night for just us friends to get together. 
We all agreed although we noted that, at the time, he was one of the only single people in the group. Recently, however, at a similar group event where the rest of us had again followed the “no spouse” rule the same person who had been adamant about this rule for all get togethers brought his significant other along. 
How can we speak to our friend about being hypocritical and rude to our significant others without attacking him?
Sincerely,
Spouseless”

Inviting or excluding significant others is always a touchy subject. It starts when we are teenagers, waiting all day to hang out with our best friend after school, only to be devastated when he brings his new girlfriend along and you spend the whole day uncomfortably trying to play Halo as they dry hump each other two feet from you in your parents basement. It's like f&k you Steve, I wanted to beat The Maw on legendary today, not spend four hours avoiding eye contact with the boner lump in your sweatpants.

Even into adulthood you run into it from time to time. My wife gets invited to weddings without a plus one every once in a while even though we're married presumably because the couple to be is trying to keep head count under control. If we're being honest in this situation, this is fine with me as I have no interest in attending Janet the HR person's wedding so that I can spend three hours at the weird leftovers table with someones socially awkward work friend Peg, the bride's asthmatic cousin Barry with the lazy eye and sweating condition, and a suit jacket that sits by itself on an empty seat all night because whoever was assigned to that spot did the smart thing and got the hell out of there.

I guess what I'm saying is that in all stages of life, sometimes there is going to be friction over when you do or don't bring along significant others.

That being said, this seems like it is much more commonly going to be a dating conundrum than a married person one. Married couples tend to have integrated into each others respective groups of friends, so it becomes less of an issue as opposed to when you are just dating someone, especially if it is a new relationship. Even so, I get the appeal of the no spouse rule on occasion for everyday social situations. Sometimes you just need a night with your friends minus significant others, it's healthy.

SADNESS SPICE, OLD SPICE, TOKEN BLACK SPICE, BUBBLES SPICE, AND RED SPICE. (I DO NOT KNOW THE NAMES OF THE SPICE GIRLS)

SADNESS SPICE, OLD SPICE, TOKEN BLACK SPICE, BUBBLES SPICE, AND RED SPICE. (I DO NOT KNOW THE NAMES OF THE SPICE GIRLS)

Now, it seems in your particular situation we're looking more at boyfriends and girlfriends as opposed to spouses. When you throw significant others into the mix with a group of friends, especially a 'new' significant other where they don't know anyone besides the person they came with it changes the whole dynamic of the group. Sometimes that's fine. In the sage words given to us by the Spice Girls "If you wanna be my lover, you gotta get with my friends". If a significant other is going to be around for a while, they've got to become familiar with the group at some point, otherwise you end up with that friend nobody sees anymore because his new girlfriend or boyfriend is dominating all their time. Still, sometimes you just want to go bowling or something with the old gang.

I don't know any of the people involved in this situation, so I can only speak in the most general of terms and operate on some basic assumptions. 

 GREAT DEAL FOR 'DATE NIGHT' OR SOUL CRUSHING  REMINDER OF YOUR CRIPPLING LONELINESS. 

 GREAT DEAL FOR 'DATE NIGHT' OR SOUL CRUSHING  REMINDER OF YOUR CRIPPLING LONELINESS. 

The first basic assumption that I am making is that your friend is pretty much a good guy and not a raging self-centered douche scooter. With that assumption in mind, I don't see the request for the no spouse rule at the first gathering as totally out of the blue. As I mentioned, sometimes it's nice to just hang out with the old gang, and really nobody wants to be the only one at Applebee's who can't order the 2 for $20 because he's by himself. Is it maybe a little selfish to institute the no spouse rule if the rest of the group isn't really down for it? Sure, but I can sympathize with being socially uncomfortable as the odd man out. I feel for the guy, so I can't get too bent out of shape over it.

Now the second get-together is maybe a little harder to justify. To play devil's advocate, I guess I can understand after having been the only single guy in the group and now finally having a boyfriend or girlfriend to bring along he was excited to show them off to his group of friends. It's mildly annoying but really I guess it depends on the fit of this new significant other in to the group. If they turn out to be awesome and get along with everyone, no harm no foul for the most part. If they are an insufferable mule that makes everyone want to slam their hands in a car door so they have an excuse to leave early not so great.

As for how you proceed with this friend, I'd like to introduce you to a philosophy by which I try to live my life. A philosophy that I believe keeps me from being an insufferable piece of garbage in many situations where folks tend to take the aforementioned human garbage route. I always ask myself "Is the aggravation of pressing this issue worth the potential reward, versus just letting it go?" 

Let me give you a few examples from my own life of the application of this mantra:

      WORKS 0.5% OF THE TIME.

      WORKS 0.5% OF THE TIME.

I used one of those photo printing kiosks you see in drug stores or Walmart to print up a few pictures that my wife wanted to frame. On one of the pictures, the printer screwed something up and left a black ink smudge across the center of the photo. I could have gone back to the store, shown the incorrectly printed photo to them, asked for a refund and had the pictures redone. Or, I could eat the $2.14, not have to fight with anybody, and just reprint that picture. I did not consider the reward of maybe $2.14 and some sort of pointless moral justice for my screwed up picture worth the inevitably awful interaction I would have had to have with an employee. I just reprinted the picture.

An additional example: Once something malfunctioned with our cable and took out our TV and internet service. I spent an hour on the phone with customer service troubleshooting before it was determined that a technician was going to need to come out and replace hardware. When it was all said and done, by the time they were able to get someone out to us, we were without TV or internet for three days.

I love my wife dearly, but there is no reward too small for her not to go through any amount of headache in the pursuit of justice. She insisted that I call our service provider and demand a refund for the time we were without cable.

CALL TOLL FREE SO A HYPER PLEASANT ETHNICALLY  NONDESCRIPT LADYBOT CAN ASK YOU TO "TRY UNPLUGGING IT AND PLUGGING IT BACK IN"

CALL TOLL FREE SO A HYPER PLEASANT ETHNICALLY  NONDESCRIPT LADYBOT CAN ASK YOU TO "TRY UNPLUGGING IT AND PLUGGING IT BACK IN"

To break that scenario down, I would have started this process by spending a minimum of an hour on the phone, most of it likely listening to hold music as I resisted the urge not to bite through my tongue and bleed to death rather than listen to another second of a synthesizer rendition of "I'm sailing away". Once I finally reached someone I would then have to petulantly demand that I be reimbursed for my inconvenience. I would be making this demand to someone who has likely already had this conversation approximately eighty-seven times today and gives exactly zero fucks. After all of that, presuming that I don't walk away empty handed and get I my reimbursement what have I actually won? If I pay $140 bucks a month for cable, I'm paying roughly $4.60 a day which would come out to a whopping $14 reimbursement for the days we were without service. Thanks, but I'll take not ruining my evening for maybe getting fourteen dollars or maybe getting politely told to go fuck myself by Verizon's customer service associate and have the recording of it immortalized for quality assurance purposes.

Now, apply this principle to this trouble with your friend. You may have a different barometer for your hassle/reward ratio than I do, but were I faced with this situation, at least where it came to the two get-togethers already passed, I would just let it go.

At best it goes well and you have a decent conversation with them about it, but still ends up being a whole thing. You can't get away with just texting them "Hey Ur GF can't hang with us anymore LOL!" and be done with it.

IT WAS JUST SUPPOSED TO BE A "BOYS NIGHT" AT LASER TAG. PAUL NEVER FORGAVE JOHN FOR BRINGING HIS GF.

IT WAS JUST SUPPOSED TO BE A "BOYS NIGHT" AT LASER TAG. PAUL NEVER FORGAVE JOHN FOR BRINGING HIS GF.

At worst they get offended and defensive and everyone gets dragged into a fight about it. A poorly handled no spouses rule violation helped break up The Beatles, don't let it happen to you and your friends too.

In all reality probably the best thing you can do is let what is done be done and take a proactive approach for future outings. Knowing that this friend has a history not quite getting the memo just realize you've got to be extra clear with them on expectations going forward.

If you do find yourself in a situation where this person is the dissenting voice in the group on if significant others should or should not invited along, avoid terms like "hypocritical" or "rude" even if they may be fitting. If you put someone on the defensive, they often shut down and you get nowhere with them.

Demonstrate that you understand their point of view and offer them your alternative. Try to make your points focused around the group as a whole rather than singling this person out as a problem. If you can win them over to the rest of the group's way of thinking without making him feel like you lectured him or hate his partner's stupid face it'll make life a lot easier for everyone.

If the group is looking for a "no spouse night" let him know that you all still like his significant other and would love to plan something soon for everyone, but that tonight other folks have already worked it out with their own significant others and you'd like to keep to the plan this time.

If its the other way around and he's pouting about significant others tagging along, make it clear that there will be plenty of opportunity to have a "just the gang" night, but it's important to welcome the partners of members of the group into the fold as well. 

As I said before, this all operates under the assumption that your friend is not a rabid uppity twit and is capable of being reasonable like an actual person. I don't know him, so maybe he is in fact a giant bag of assholes. If that's the case my advice is the group just tells him to jog on.

Good luck, and may all your future outings be trouble free.

Archived Post: Ask a Husband #1: Joint Finances

So back when I first started this website, I did a few installments of this thing where I took some general relationship questions that people sent me and wrote a post in a mock Dear Abby sort of advice column. The few of them I did ranged in how serious the advice I gave was. This one despite being largely about cat sweaters and discontinued cereal (you'll see) I felt actually addressed the question that was posed. Others were far less helpful. 

I eventually stopped these as I didn't really enjoy doing them. I took that part of the site down and it's been buried ever since. I came across the posts while digging through some old stuff though and remembered I did actually think some of them were kind of funny, so I decided to re-post them on the main site. I'll put them up one at a time over the next few weeks, and possibly even post one that never saw the light of day in the first place. We'll see.

Here is the first ever Ask a Husband. Perhaps 'Ask an Idiot' would be a more apt title now.


Ask A Husband #1: Joint Finances

Originally posted July 19 2015

For the first ever installment of Ask a Husband, I'm going to discuss a question that I got a few times. That topic is "Joint Finances"

“A newlyweds guide to managing finances together.”

— Paula S.

“How to make his and her money “our” money while both still being able to spend as wanted!”

— Ashley M.

One of the big things that must be dealt with as a newly married couple is figuring out how to make the transition from maintaining separate bank accounts to managing your finances as a joint entity.

Before I begin dishing out advice on this topic, let me start with a disclaimer. On this matter, there really is no single correct way to do things. You and your significant other are going to have to talk things over, figure out what is going to work best for you and go with that. If you're having a tough time coming to a consensus you can always point them to this site and tell them "Hey, when that guy isn't writing stories about farts and giggling about unintentionally phallic objects he has a few thoughts on joint bank account management you should look into." That should pretty much seal the deal that I'm a totally credible source of information.

It's a whole new experience sharing your finances with someone

f*#&ing Scrumptious 

f*#&ing Scrumptious 

The prospect of someone else having access to all your financial information, as well as your purchasing habits once you get married can be unsettling at first. Who want's to face having to explain to their angry spouse why they bought a forty dollar box of Rice Krispies Treats Cereal on Amazon? Certainly not me. (Because they're goddamn delicious and you can't get them in stores anymore FYI) 

Going from having complete and total control over how and when you spend your own money to managing everything with another person can be stressful, especially if you end up feeling like your unable to have any 'fun money' to spend on the occasional frivolous item for yourself.

If this resonates with you, perhaps the same method of managing finances that works for my wife and I will fit you and your partner. We organize our finances so that we cover some things together, whilst still maintaining a portion of our incomes independently.

The Future is now!

99% Murder Efficiency

99% Murder Efficiency

First I'll say this. I love the continued progress we are making in the world towards not having to interact humans for basic services. When the inevitable robot apocalypse occurs and humans are overthrown as the dominant life form on the planet by the new master race of robo-murdertron 9000's and I'm hunted down and pulped to make some sort of battery recharging slurry my last words will be "At least for a while I was able to do my banking without having to talk to anyone".

Setting up multiple accounts with your bank and managing them from your computer or phone is awesome. In our household, we've got all our accounts at our fingertips and can move money around at will. It makes maintaining multiple checking and savings accounts which we've designated for different purposes a snap.

I highly recommend if you are not already doing so, get yourself set up to do mobile banking with accounts you both have access to. It will help massively with managing your budget and keeping you both on the same page with your finances. 

Getting your budget in order

Before we get to the part of managing your finances together where you get your own money to blow on headphones for your cat or something, you should make sure all of your other affairs are in order.

Headphones for your cat, not to be confused with cat headphones

Headphones for your cat, not to be confused with cat headphones

In other words, the order of importance of figuring out where your money is going looks something like this:

  • Bills and essentials
  • Savings
  • Cat Headphones

Seems simple but it's really easy to forget that you need to make sure you've got all your bills payed and you're putting something away for later before running out to buy a new gadget. Especially if you're younger and just starting out. Way too many times have I heard things like It's okay to be broke now, your just starting out, you're supposed to be broke. You've got time to save later. As justification for spending on things you really can't afford. A word of advice: It is okay to be broke, and it is okay treat yourself, but do so responsibly. Always be putting at least something away for later. Even if it's just a few bucks a month at first. Even if it just means going out to dinner one less time that month, that's twenty bucks more than you had before and it adds up over time. You may be glad you've got a few hundred or a few thousand bucks in reserve down the road in an emergency.

How We Do It

What we did for our money management was work out a system where all of our recurring bills are payed from a single joint checking account that we set up solely for that purpose. We each contribute 50% towards bills like rent, utilities, food, cable, ect, while putting in 100% of the cost towards any recurring bills we felt were individual responsibilities (things like student loans and individual car payments).

This works for us as it has all of our money going out from one account for easy tracking, and in a situation where my monthly expenses are much higher than her's due to my student loans and the fact that her car is payed off already, it doesn't put that financial burden on her. Everything is nice and even.

Once we had the bills covered we each took whatever was left from each of our monthly incomes and split it up in several ways. These boil down to: Long term savings, incidentals, and fun money.

Long term savings is money we put aside in addition to what we are each already contributing to our respective 401k and retirement funds. This is money that we don't touch, but have readily available in an emergency. (Like if one of our jerk dogs breaks through two secured gates, gets into the kitchen and eats seven ears of corn and needs emergency surgery, to provide you with a highly specific example).

Incidentals is for the various things you inevitably need to purchase that aren't  covered in the monthly budget. We move a certain amount of money to this account each month and use it for the random purchases we make throughout the month (like 95% of it being the twelve consecutive trips I end up making to Lowe's every time I try to fix something stupid around the house like the outside hoses.) As we are still in the process of furnishing our house we periodically try to let it build up over a while and then make a large purchase like a piece of furniture. (We never buy anything we can't afford to pay for then and there. Credit card debt is the writhing spawn of Satan's housekeeper Norma.)

Now onto my personal favorite: Fun money. We have together fun money, and we have individual fun money. Each month after we've moved the designated amount of money for our bills, incidentals and long term savings, we take whatever is left over and put it into the fun money accounts. We have one that we share, which we use primarily to save for vacations, and we each have a separate account that the other person doesn't have access to.

go hard.

go hard.

With the bills paid and some money being squirreled away for a rainy day, the money in this personal account is considered ours and ours alone to do with as we please. If I want to buy a 40 dollar box of cereal on the internet, I can do so entirely guilt free. She loves getting her nails done, if she wants to go do that, great! If I purchase a sick cat sweater, we have a talk about being embarrasing in public but hell if that's not my money to spend on cat sweaters if I want! Having that little bit of money set aside each month that is entirely yours to spend on whatever you want is, in my opinion, a healthy way to maintain that balance between "his and her" money and "our" money.

The other benefit to managing things this way is that it forces you to be more responsible and deliberate with your purchasing. If I want to blow all my money on Cat sweaters and Cereal, I'm free to do that, but I only put so much money in my fun money account each month. If I spend it all, there is no dipping into the other pools of cash, I've gotta wait. If I want to buy something more expensive, I've got to be happy with the sweaters I already own, and whatever bran flavored box of disappointing adult cereal we have in the house for a couple of months. Ultimately I find it makes purchasing that new laptop or expensive gadget all the more rewarding because the anticipation of saving up for it made it that much more sweet when I actually got my hands on it. 

Bottom Line, have boundaries set and stick to them   

Now before you run off and buy a purebred Welsh Corgi which is genetically proven to be a 99% genetic relative to the Queen of England's third favorite dog and name him Colonel Stuben Crumplebuttons, or roll out to the gentleman's club and make it rain singles on a dancer named Cinnamon who's "just working her way through nursing school", realize that while fun money is meant to be for you to spend on things that make you happy, you are still in a relationship. 

Don't go pointing the finger at me when your significant other is pissed that you got a dog without consulting them or come home smelling like glitter and broken dreams. "The cat sweater and cereal guy said I could spend this money on whatever I wanted!" is not going to fly, I promise you that.

Make sure if you are purchasing something that will affect the other person, you consult with them before doing it.

Like in all things in a marriage, you can usually avoid conflict by talking things out with one another and being on the same page with your plan. That goes not just for how you are spending your fun money, but for setting up your budget and establishing how any leftover money is being handled after the bills have been payed in the first place.

As I said before, the plan I outlined is just how my wife and I handle things. That's what works for us, but it might not be what is best for you. Figure out your plan for your finances and once it's in place, stick to it. Before you know it you'll be rolling in all the cat sweaters and cereal you could ever want.

The 14 Dollar Carrot

Ever wondered what a 14 dollar carrot would look like?

Wonder no more. here it is:

 
carrot.jpg
 

As it turns out, a 14 dollar carrot looks suspiciously like a regular carrot that somebody cut in half, heated up and put on a plate with a few artful mooshes of unidentifiable shit.

The 14 dollar carrot is what you get when you go to a very fancy vegan restaurant in Philadelphia.

Perhaps some backstory. 


My wife has been a vegetarian for almost a decade and while I support her lifestyle choice, I personally continue to eat meat. Partly because I like meat and partly because most vegetarian/vegan foods taste like what I assume getting a degree in Latin yodeling then being sad for the rest of your life because you're unemployable and in a mountain of debt would taste like if it were food. In other words: disappointing and unpalatable.

Despite the fact that I am not a vegetarian myself, I'll occasionally bite the bullet and try whatever form of weird grass-fed lettuce she wants me to eat for the sake of marital compromise. She tolerates me cooking meatloaf, which even as a person who likes meatloaf I can admit is fucking disgusting, so I figure I owe her one every now and again.

We happened to have a gift card to this fancy vegan restaurant in the city that she'd been talking about trying for ages. We'd never actually made the trip because the place has a reputation for being a bit pricey and I've got the pallet of a third grader, so it wasn't likely I was going to find anything on the menu appetizing. With the gift card though, I thought why not; if I'm going to subject myself to choking down some upper crusty vegan nonsense as a meal at least not having to pay for it makes me feel better.  

I made a reservation a few weeks in advance and surprised Emily with a dinner date in the city. 

 
 

I pretty much anticipated the place was going to be  an insufferable den of hipster bullshit and I was not disappointed. It was a veritable smorgasbord of flannel shirts, buddy holly glasses and wrist tattoos of anchors up in there. I felt out of place immediately upon entering the building in that I'm positive they could tell I was an outsider as if I had a visible aura around me that indicated to them that I don't own a fixed gear bike and think Cochella is stupid. The restaurant itself was very nice, but walking in the door was like a way more passive aggressive version of when a city-slicker walks into an old west saloon; If there had been a guy in suspenders and a bowler hat playing a piano he'd have hit a flat chord and come grinding to a halt while everyone in the room turned to glare at me.

I mean, there absolutely was a guy with suspenders and a bowler hat, but he was just there having drinks.

The dining experience was generally as expected; every single ingredient used in every single item on the menu came equipped with its own own resume of qualifications on how vegany it was. This equated to roughly a six hour seminar just to hear the specials. We get it Becky, the tofu is free range, cruelty free, contains no gluten, is organic and donates it's free time to underprivileged urban children on the weekends. We all get to claim moral superiority for the next twenty-four hours for having eaten here over anybody who had the audacity to eat a cheeseburger at a TGI Fridays tonight like a fucking plebeian; Can we please just move on with our lives?

On the bright side, all of the extra time it took to listen to the life story of every vegetable on the menu was offset by extremely fast service; It wasn't five minutes between when we ordered and when our food showed up at the table. I suppose when your entire menu only consists of three different ingredients, one of them is a carrot and the other two are soy paste it doesn't take all that long to prepare a dish so I guess that isn't a huge compliment but credit where credit is due. It may have been some warmed up vegetables, but goddamnit if those warmed up vegetables were not in front of my face pronto.

Here's the highlight reel of the experience from the time we sat down at the table until the time we left:

Ordering

 
 

Everything on the menu was weird stuff. Fancy Radishes? Fuck off. Unless you put little tophats and a monocles on those things and give them a trust fund they're still a shitty mostly tasteless tuberous root that you washed dirt off of six seconds before you fed it to me. Also, I saw someone order the Glazed Romanesco. I don't know what shit you people are trying to pull, but that was a piece of lettuce with some stuff drizzled on it.

I've got to hand it to them at least, looking through this menu, there is not a single item on here that can possibly cost this restaurant more than a dollar a plate. they are successfully charging people out the butthole for this stuff.

Before the Meal

 
 

This is the vegan restaurant version of bringing bread to the table. It's 'carrot soup'. It was warm-ish, served in a shot glass and tasted like spicy carrots strained through a tube sock. It had the consistancy of baby food and I did not care for it.

Entree 

 
 

For our meals Emily got the previously depicted 14 dollar carrot and I got this tofu because it enraged me the least out of everything on the menu. No, that is not a trick of perspective, that is in fact a 15 dollar meal consisting of a single piece of grilled tofu only slightly larger than the head of a fork. 

Also whatever this shit was that looked like what you pull out of the bottom of your lawnmower when it gets clogged up.

The one thing I will say is this: The outside of that piece of tofu was fucking delicious. It may have been the single best marinade on a grilled piece of food I have ever eaten. 

However.

No matter how mouthtacular the glaze was, there is a singularly detrimental issue with this dish, which I have depicted in a handy diagram below:

And again for further clarity: 

Not even all of the top hats could disguise what essentially boils down to eating a mostly tasteless lego brick of pressed bean milk. They can grill any flavor they want onto the outside of a piece of tofu but the entire interior is always going to taste like licking a kitchen sponge. I ate it though. So help me I ate it with nary a top hat or monocle to be seen to fancy it up.

Dessert

 
desert.jpg
 

If the rest of the meal up until this point was a parade of overpriced pretentious crap where they put a single vegetable on a plate and drizzled a sauce on it, dessert made up for it in spades.

I got this thing that was different toffee, caramel and peanut butter flavored stuff and it was good. Not even like, good for being vegan food. It was regular food good. I couldn't even tell that the dessert had been made of sadness and a sense of moral superiority (the only vegan ingredients left when you remove dairy from an ice cream based treat). I would come back to this restaurant just to eat that.

The thing that looks like a hockey puck of monochrome cat food in coffee grounds I understand was some sort of ice cream with chocolate dusty stuff that Emily got. It was also very good I am told despite perhaps less than stellar curb appeal.


All in all, my expectations were met regarding our dinner at the vegan restaurant. I went in assuming I was going to find the general demeanor of the establishment vaguely annoying, and that I was going to force feed myself something way too expensive that I found moderately appetizing at best. I was correct on both counts.

Emily seemed to enjoy the experience though, and I am not devoid of an ability to at least fake proper dining civility once in a while for her benefit. I doubt I'll be rushing back to any vegan restaurants any time soon, but if you are a vegetarian, vegan, or have an abnormally tiny stomach and some spare cash, you could do a lot worse. I can certainly see why people who, unlike myself, are not complete barbarians would very much like the place.

Christmas Tree Update

If you're not familiar with the complete beast of a Christmas tree we had this year, you can read this and get up to speed.

Today I took the beast down and got rid of it. I thought I would immortalize it's passing.

 
 

Every year I take a piece of scrap plastic from work and use it to wrap my Christmas trees up so they don't shit needles all over my house on the way out the door. It saves me a bunch of cleanup time and keeps me from finding pine needles in my socks in August because as we all know, pine needles, glitter and that fake grass from Easter Baskets are the most adhesive objects in the known universe and can never be successfully removed from any surface.

Of course the thing is so huge it basically just looks like for some reason there was a full sized gorilla in my den and the only thing I could think of to deal with it was to throw a tarp on it. Don't see it? Here:

 
gorilla.jpg
 

If only all of life's problems could be dealt with by throwing a tarp over them and pretending they don't exist. Tree gorillas aside, I hauled it out of the house to get rid of it. This turned out to be a whole production in and of itself.

 
16195291_10211777621826151_6059573671333308891_n.jpg
 

I seriously don't understand how we got it in there in the first place. I had to put my feet on the wall and use my body weight to haul it through that doorway like a cartoon character just to get it out of the room. I'm sure I ruined at least half the branches jamming it through the doorframe as it apparently it got even bigger in diameter from when it went in. Logic would suggest that the branches had settled after we brought it in before Christmas, explaining the trouble i had getting it out. However, I suspect it grew two feet of it's own accord because it's an asshole.

Once it was outside it wasn't too bad at least. For a tree roughly the size of an adolescent rhino it was deceptively light; Possibly due to the fact that I put off dealing with it until almost a month after Christmas and it was so dry I'm surprised a slightly sunny day reflecting through the window didn't cause it to ignite. Or some other reason, maybe. Off it goes to the tree graveyard.


The tree graveyard is this spot in the woods behind our house I take the Christmas tree every year to dump. Apparently putting your tree out in the woods to decompose naturally is good for wildlife that can use it as shelter, but mostly it's just easier for me to huck it in the woods and not deal with it again, so I don't feel like I really get any merit badges on my sash for it. (Do boyscouts get sashes? That seems like it's probably more of a Girlscout thing. Boyscouts should start getting sashes because fuck off, boys can be fabulous too if they want.) 

I also like the tree graveyard because the particular spot I go to is sort of this lip that overlooks a steep hill into the little area where all the trees go. Its really fun to hurl the tree off the cliff and watch it tumble to it's fate. Because I'm nine apparently and get satisfaction from that sort of thing.

 
16002953_10211777621946154_4066392532194352280_n.jpg
 

You can see the tree from each year we've lived in this house down there, though the one from four Christmases ago is is hard to see at this point. If we ever move I might sneak back here in the middle of the night in January every year to keep throwing Christmas trees off this hill. I want it to be a barren wasteland of old Christmas trees someday, and also I like the though that whoever lives here after me has a little bit of a paranoid breakdown fifteen years from now trying to figure out why Christmas Trees keep appearing in the middle of the night.

Just for reference, if you look a little closer, that's last year's tree being suffocated by the malformed girth of this years tree.

Maybe next year I'll just come back down here and get this one to put up again. It will probably manage to still be green somehow. Out of sheer malice I suspect.

 

Man Cold Theory

It's that time of year again.

It's cold and miserable out and Christmas is over, so that thing where the weather seemed charming and festive is done; Now it's just cold and miserable and we're all back to being dead inside. On top of that, cold and flu season is in full swing. Donna at the office blows her nose once and you're like 'Donna, you sniffly bitch. Go home and stay the hell away from the rest of us before we all catch whatever plague you dragged in here'.

One thing also comes around without fail this time of year; an absolute tidal wave of people making that joke about Men vs Women when it comes to being sick. You know the one, I'm sure. "This is how a woman acts with a cold... and THIS is how a MAN acts with a cold!"

If you aren't familiar or need a refresher, it's basically this:

Manvswomancold.jpg

While I love marginally funny observational humor repeated ad nauseam as much as the next guy, I actually have something of a theory on this matter. 

Generally, being a man involves a lot of acting way more stoic and tough than you really feel.

Tired? Shut your face and go lift that bag of rocks.

Slightly chilly? Hike up your frilly pink ballerina skirt and man up you quivering weenie.

Chopped three of your fingers off with a table saw? Screw you! Rub some dirt in the holes, tape a couple of hot dogs to your finger stumps and finish building that goddamn shelf.

You're sad? What even is sadness? Is that a type of salad dressing? Do you eat it on your tiny baby bunny rabbit salads with a healthy sprinkling of being a little bitch on top? THAT'S WHAT THE HELL I THOUGHT, GO HAMMER SOME STUFF.

There is a lot of pressure put on men to be tough, to be protectors and providers and generally to wall in anything that could be construed as weakness. Men spend their entire lives being conditioned that they are one slightly effeminate display of emotion, overt reaction to pain, or failure to catch an object thrown to them away from being relentlessly mocked, beaten to death or called Susan for the rest of their lives by their peers. It can kind of mess a person up.   

I postulate that the one time a man's subconscious tells him it's acceptable to be weak or powerless is when he's sick. If that is the case, the phenomenon of the man cold can be explained as the swinging of the psychological pendulum from one extreme to the other. Where before all weakness was shut out, now there is nothing left but a completely useless husk of a person. It's kind of like the psyche taking a vacation. 

For whatever reason, being sick is the only time a man feels like he can admit weakness without being judged for it. It's the only time he feels like he's allowed to say "I feel icky and I don't want to do anything and please take care of me and don't ask me to do things and let me lay here and feel bad for myself."

It's not a conscious decision to be a giant sniveling man-baby whenever he doesn't feel good; It's more like a dam breaking that was holding back a massive torrent of water from washing away a village. Once the barrier holding in a lifetime worth of 'toughing shit out' starts to give, things get out of control pretty fast. The mind is a powerful thing, and could easily be responsible for men experiencing illnesses more intensely than their female counterparts. 

Females who, by the way, spend their whole lives being told by society that they are weaker, more fragile and more emotionally delicate than men are. While men are being pressured to be cold, unflappable, meat chewing, punch-a-bear-in-the-goddamn-face badasses, women have their own equally shitty expectations to deal with. They're having emotional over-sensitivity rammed down their face holes from the time they are born; hence, the exact opposite reaction to being sick.

BOOM. Two theories for the price of one. Thus explained irrefutably, why Men devolve into helpless piles of snot and vapor-rub when they get sick while women stuff two kleenex up their nose and go about their business, summoning the strength to function from sheer spite.

I'm sure there is some sort of gripe to be had here where a bunch of words like patriarchy and gender stereotypes would get thrown around, but we're really more about farts and laughing about words like 'dongle' around here so lets leave that part to tumblr.

If you take one thing away from reading this: From one man to the rest of society out there; Maybe lay off your husband or boyfriend next time they're feeling under the weather. Remember, being a dramatic baby is his way of venting like 400,000 times he's hit his elbow and had to play it off like it was fine over the course of his life plus the fact that he was never allowed to cry as a child, even when Shannon D'marcus told him he was an ugly loser that sweat too much in sixth grade gym class and everyone laughed.

He'll get up in the middle of the night and walk around the house with a baseball bat like some sort of underpants vigilante because you 'heard a noise' without complaint because the world trained him that he has to. Even though nobody want's to walk around their dark house at two in the morning wearing boxer shorts and a "Who Farted?" t-shirt with a mustard stain on it to maybe have to fight a man and/or escaped circus bear to death, he'll do it for you. So maybe he gets a pass on staying in bed for a few days with a head cold.

  

 

Night of 1000 Dog Farts: Part 2

This is the second part to Night of 1000 Dog Farts: Part 1.

When last we joined our intrepid hero, he was elbow deep in dog excrement and begrudgingly playing a game of 'find the feces' in the living room.

The foster dog, Riley, had escaped from her crate using a combination of dog ninjitsu/ Nightcrawler style teleportation and eaten her entire body weight in Olive's special fish diet chow. She then shat on every surface in the house until I came home and found her.

Upon booting both Riley and Olive out of the house I had just completed my search for all of the dog messes. 45 minutes, 2/3 of a bottle of Resolve and an entire roll of paper towels later I believed I had found all the Lincoln logs there were to be found so I let the dogs back into the house.

Using one of the 621413057129371823957 plastic grocery bags that my wife compulsively hoards in our kitchen drawers, I gathered up all of the paper towels and other disjecta membra from my cleaning spree and took them out to the garbage can. A process which takes roughly 12 seconds to complete.


 
 

I considered writing a warning before continuing on to the next bit of the story but I figure if you've made it this far, you're in to the end. Strap in, it's about to get gross up in here.

When I came back in from depositing the trash outside, I discovered that like a poo seeking missile, Olive had located a giant dog poo I had missed near a lamp in the den and was in the process of devouring it like some sort of a lumpy brown afternoon snack.

I tried to stop her from polishing off the poo by yelling at her to get away from it while I rushed over, to no avail.


 
 

 
 

 
 

 
 

 
 

As thoroughly disgusting as this was, it was merely a brief glimpse of the horrors that would soon begin.

You may recall from Part 1 that I mentioned Olive is on a fish based diet because of a food allergy to poultry. An innocuous detail at the time, but I did say that it would prove to be important later.

Later being about an hour after the last of the cleanup and the poo eating took place. That's when the farts started.

At first it was just Riley. Her system was not prepared for Olives's special fish diet at all, so the fact that she had ingested a weeks worth of completely foreign chow over the course of an hour meant there was a battle raging in her intestines. The gurgling coming from that dog's stomach was audible from across the room and within minutes of the first warning signs, a full scale olfactory assault began.  


 
 

As everyone knows there are all kinds of different farts; regular farts, silent but deadly farts, church farts, meat farts, jogging farts and so on. Usually though only human farts get their own special titles, typically our canine friends have their malodorous emissions relegated to the blanket category of "Dog Farts."

The putrid expulsion of gas that started coming out of that dog was far and away too vile and reprehensible to share a classification with something so innocuous and hilarious as a dog fart. These were not the type of farts that smell for a second and then fade away into a fond memory memory of Fido tooting himself awake. No, these were the kind that settled in the air and lingered like a heavy, deadly fog. They clung to the furniture and burned the eyes. There was  no escape from it.



Ever smelled something so bad it coated your tongue and you could taste it for the rest of the day? It was like that. The smell was so bad it was basically like being suffocated  by a hitman wielding a rag soaked in liquefied rotten eggs that somebody pulled off of a river corpse.


 
 

As if it weren't toxic enough, about twenty minutes into Riley's intestinal emission torture Olive started farting as well. That giant goddamn turd I couldn't stop her from eating had apparently created some sort of bowel movement Trojan horse situation and carried whatever biological warfare was taking place inside of one dog over to the other.   


 
 

The Symphony of death farts was like a woodwind ensemble comprised entirely of anuses playing instruments making a mockery of Beethoven's Symphony No. 9.

It literally stunk up the entire first floor our our house. When Emily came home from work a few hours later, entering at the opposite side of the house from where the dogs were she said, and I quote "As soon as I walked in the door it was like getting punched in the face by a wall of farts"



Whatever interior distress these two dogs were going through was apparently not planning on resolving itself in any sort of timely fashion. A continual stream of stomach gurgling and dog farts carried on well into the night making the entire house smell vaguely of rancid meat and death.


gas.PNG

By around 11:45 we were ready to go to bed, so upstairs we all went, two furry butts crop dusting the entire house on their way to the bedroom where we put them in the large crate that had their beds in it. The only problem was that what had been a neigh unbearable stench when there was a large open space for it to dissipate over became equivalent to tear gas when confined within the bedroom.

Besides not being able to breath or sleep, it was getting to the point where the stink was so foul and the two dogs looked so bloated, we were worried they might fart themselves to death. Emily called one of the vets she works with at  about 12:00 AM to explain the situation and ask what we could do about it.

The answer? Go to the store and buy an anti-gas medicine. Those pills where the commercial is various people looking really uncomfortable while watching a sports game, going on a picnic or having a job interview as tuba music plays in the background? Those.


Meds.png

Apparently its cool to feed those to dogs in case you were wondering. 

So good news and bad news. Good news is we can give the dogs some of these fart pills and it should stem the tide of their murder poots. Bad news is I have to go out to Walmart past midnight on a Tuesday to purchase said fart pills.

Going to Walmart after midnight on a weeknight in order to purchase fart medicine is probably on my top list of things I never, ever want to do. Right behind fighting a wolverine with my bare hands and having Donald Trump lightly brush his cotton-candy-made-out-of-urine hair against my face.


drumpf.png

First of all, the Walmart crowd can be rough at any time of the day but nobody goes to Walmart at midnight on a weekday for any normal reason. I was not looking forward to the parade of sweat pant wearing zombies buying-thirty five cans of wet cat food and a pair of Dora the Explorer child's rain boots I was about to be exposed to.


Second, the thought of having to go into a store and look a cashier in the face while I buy fart medicine is mortifying enough. The fact that I have to do it at midnight makes me want to light myself on fire.

To make matters even worse, for some reason my wife decided she needed cranberry juice since I was going out anyway.

This is my nightmare. It's going on 1 a.m on a Wednesday, I've waded through a sea of super high people looking for industrial sized Doritos, and probable murder-molesters to get my items and am now standing in front of a cashier who's pissed because not only does she have to work the bullshit 1 a.m shift, now she actually has to deal with somebody because here I come with my fart medicine and cranberry juice.


 
Tired.png
 

 
 

In my head it's like I've walked up to this stranger and announced I've got a case of the butt rumbles so severe that I had to leave my house at ONE IN THE GODDAMN MORNING to get medicine for it.

"How d'yo do ma'am? Just here to pick up some fart medicine in a desperate attempt to stem the explosive propulsion of methane that has been and may currently be firing out of my back end. Also, all this farting has made me thirsty and I've got a real hankering for some cranberry juice." 

Horrified at my predicament, I desperately needed to figure out a way to naturally slip it into the conversation that the medicine was for my dogs, not myself.


Awkward1.png



It went poorly. I'm not even sure what I said, but there isn't really a normal way to just drop in that you are buying fart medicine at 1 a.m. for some dogs completely unsolicited. 

I'm pretty sure I just convinced her more that the fart medicine was for me because of my weird excuse dropping, but she didn't say anything so I just got out of there as fast as possible.

In the end the fart medicine took care of the dog farts and everyone was able to get some sleep. But the house smelled for like two days afterwards.

Also, the cranberry juice was good.

The end.