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Alex: 

Whoa…. Alcohol.  A five dollar pint of Black Velvet and luke warm orange juice which is undoubtedly pushing the expiration date.

Uhhhhh……. wait….. nope.  I’m fine. Expired or not. I’m pretty sure fruit juice can go bad if left out… orrrrr…. left sitting in a busted fridge.

Give it up for Hemingway man!  Who can find inspiration when sober?  Plus, it must have been boring  just “thinking” all day long.  I wonder if Mr. Ernest ever tried his hand at a crossword puzzle.  Assuredly his drug habit would have been put on the back burner if Sudoku had taken over whatever boredom plagued him.  Geezy Creezy, Sudoku would make anyone contemplate a shotgun in the back of the throat.  Maybe… just maybe he picked up Sudoku during one of his many travels.

I drink… maybeeeee…. once a month.  Okay, TWICE!!!  But you betcha, if I were addicted to anything but CHEEZ ITS and the mirror, it would be liquor!!! Yes-sir-eeeee!  It’s the only thing that won’t induce a panick attack. Can I get a “HELL YEAH” from all you paranoid, hypochondriac-ish, CAN’T do MSG’s, control freaks?!  And for those of you who have no clue what I’m talking about… well… good for you and your delusional self!!!  I refuse to think that creativity could possibly emerge from anything other than a childhood deprived of one of the following.  Love, nurturing, mass quantities of money, mass delusions of life, blood mother, blood father, all straight uncles, a straight up babysitter that had no interest in games that involved a Polaroid camera and your PJs’ down around your ankles, or a pet tragically killed by a much younger sibling or machinery.

If I have forgotten anything, suggestions are welcomed:)

Am I also crazy to think that the only reason “men old enough to remember the gaming revolution” are so obsessed with MADDEN (or any other game for that matter) is because they have consciously succumb to the fact that they will forever have to actually WORK for a living, BUT… subconsciously emit a will and desire to “win for the team”, dress in tight pants with butt padding, fantasize that no matter how unattractive they are, a contract with the Carolina Panthers means UNLIMITED pussy??

Didn’t think so.

FINE!!!! Let us touch on the absolutely ridiculous approach women take towards life.  Fat Free yogurt partnered with a 1200 calorie coffee from Starbucks; Refusal to walk 10 parking spots to the front door of Target but complain when their local gym closes before midnight on a weekday; Our unreasonable need for attention unless the living room happens to be graced with Patrick Dempsey’s two-dimensional self. (Remember the 1980′s movie “Can’t Buy Me Love?”  He was such a nerd in that).  And What’s with all the clothes?? My closet is packed fuller than… well…. you fill in the blank.  I wear the same five outfits every week (I walk around naked on weekends) and practically in the same order depending on when I manage to drag myself to the laundry mat.  But like I tell my fiancée… “what if Tyra calls?”  And boy-o-boy.  We just can’t get enough of those Rom Com’s. I’m still anticipating the movie duet debut of Matthew McConaughey and Katherine Heigl.  So fake we are. So fake.

Listen. My hot wings are just about reheated. Time to sober up. It’s “golf with the girlfriend Monday” tomorrow. I vow to break 60, and I can’t do that if I continue to sip whisky and orange juice and rant and babble to you guys about nothing.

Until next time

-Alexandra

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Orion:  So let me give you the low down.  I am a 10 handicap golfer struggling immensely to make it into the ranks of “Professional”.  Some days are good and some days are bad…  No some days are JUST AWFUL!!!   Today for example was “golfing with the girlfriend Saturday”, a day where my childish temper tantrums feel free to come out and play with the rest of us.  Like on hole number eight when I attempted a fastball with my 5 wood into a bonsai look-alike pine tree after a ridiculous attempt at a 3 iron recovery shot.  (For those who don’t speak golf please refer to the accompanied photograph.)

But really, have you ever seen a tree this ugly.

Now once the cat is out of the bag that you can’t help but act like a child your temperament and immaturity are bound to become a bit contagious, and if you’re lucky you may get to see something like this.

Now if you squint your eyes and focus on the top right of this photo you will see the last impressions of a 3 wood.

“Golfing with the girlfriend Saturday” isn’t all bad.  You do get quality time with your spouse and a list of classic excuses for when you are with your buddies.

1.  My hair was in my eyes-only good if you are sporting long hair but don’t be afraid to replace hair with fly or sweat.

2  There was a bug on the ball- by saying bug you may get some guff from your company so maybe try “the ball moved in my back swing” or ” a bug moved my ball”.

3.  I heard a horn-This plays well among all sexes but go ahead and get creative.  “I thought you said my name Sam”, or “Did someone yell  FOUR.”

4.  I didn’t eat breakfast- Just to push into sympathetic territory its best to blame fatigue on your wife, other men will relate.  “wifes been watching my carbs”, or “The misses says no red meat”.  Maybe try my personal favorite “All we have in the fridge is yogurt and pedialyte”. 

5.  I can’t swing with manicured nails-  “Keep it manly gentlemen”. ” My index finger is broke”, “I dislocated my wrist fighting a bear”,  or “broke my arm doing a keg stand.”

6.  Now if all else fails go after the greens;  Too much water, not enough water, too fast, too slow, wind caught the ball, it’s too damn wet outside, who can play in this heat, I can’t golf when the weather is this nice, I heard the tree moving, cart paths are for cripples, why do the 6 and the 9 look the same, that gopher took my ball (thank you Caddy Shack).

Have fun with these guys but respect the game and replace your divots.

-Orion:)@

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Alex:

Finger paints… Finger paints were the greatest. Finger paints, sniffy markers, and Play Doh. LEGOS took runner-up, but because I could only build one on top of the other and not smash them all together to make shit brown.

I live with my “now” fiancée Orion. (He no more than 30 seconds ago, managed to pull himself away from his Madden marathon to perform a mild strip tease up against my desk chair to PLAY THAT FUNKY MUSIC. I love him). Whew…  A whole year, 4 months, and 4 days later, he still makes my female parts tickle with excitement. (Whoap, he just described his bowel movement.) Yes, I adore him.

I feel as though relationships, the ones that work, and the ones that don’t work, all come down to a very advanced and complicated mathematical formula, made up of patterns, equations, geometric shapes, and parabolas (I don’t remember what parabolas are, I just like that word) and if one little number or angle is forgotten or miscalculated, the whole thing falls apart. It can be as small as say…. (UNSATISFIED IN THE BEDROOM) x (PICKED NOSE IN PUBLIC) = SCREAMING MATCH. Or as big as ….(YOU SLEPT WITH MY FATHER) + (YOU THEN POO POOED ON MY CASHMERE SWEATER) = GREAT MAKE UP SEX!

The problem??? We will never be able to break down the equation and figure out exactly what makes one tick in a relationship.

Ladies, let’s take “the list” for example. You know… that scribbled down set of traits that your fantasy man WILL encompass.

Intelligent, witty, generous, compassionate, handsome but not handsome enough to where he can’t help but think about himself while masturbating, loves kids, appreciates his family, confident in just about everything he does, and independent, but only when you’re too busy to answer the phone when he calls. See though… that’s just it… Those aren’t the traits that determine our “Googly” factor. It’s the little itty bitty teeny tiny stuff like whether or not he coughs at the beginning of every phone conversation, or what is with the constant blowing of his nose???  When you get deep enough in, it’s those seemingly insignificant things that eventually add up to a 10 year marriage, 8 kids, a reality tv show, multiple burnt dinners, a stint on Dancing with the Stars, 2 broken hearts, and 1 suicide attempt. (I’m guessing)

Love is more complicated to figure out than the missing link between Newtonian and Quantum Physics.

I can make this real simple. For the guys and gals who are already in a relationship… if you don’t already know, ask your honey what their favorite color is. If your favorite color is anywhere near theirs on the color wheel, RUN!!!!!! DISASTER!!! I’m telling you. And if the colors are touching or even the same, forget goodbyes. Save yourself! And if you haven’t yet found Mr. or Mrs. Perfect, don’t hesitate. On the first date, during the first drink, as your switching from bottom to top during a drunken and eventual regrettable choice to take each others clothes off before exchanging names, ask them … “What is your favorite color.” You will save yourself multiple headaches, all of your cd’s, and a trip to planned parenthood.

-Alexandra

Over and out.

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Alex (the girlfriend):  WANNABE musician/writer/amateur golfer, but am a pro ballroom dancer/blonde by the bottle/amateur in the bedroom, except on nacho night when my tum tum is filled and the mood is just right. If all were lost, my hopes, dreams, successes, failures, disinterest in seafood and massive panick attacks would easily fill my box. I’m a capricorn.

Orion (the boyfriend):  I once drank so much egg nog I went into a diabetic Coma.:)@.  
The @ in my smiley face represents a beard…
I just grew a beard…:)@