On a recent visit home I was able to check in with my friend Paul over at Questlab Podcasts. He was nice enough to think what I had to say would be funny for his show. So what did I do? We all got drunk, got in the studio and you can hit play to see what happened. Pretty sure we discussed my Wawa tattoo, the happenings of my move to Los Angeles and our adventures of the new taxi-like Apps like Uber and Lyft. Check it out, download and share with friends.
YourFriendMatt
"Man. Fuck this bitch." I said to myself getting cut off in line at the super market.
It's Friday and I am on my bike ride home from work. After a weeks worth of dealing with the American Public it's only right that I stop at the super market to grab some nice beer. An hour from now I will be sitting in the backyard staring at the raise garden I assembled basking in the sun as it turns to dusk. Perfect way to launch into the weekend if you ask me.
(SIDE-NOTE: I don't know if I will ever get use to being able to walk into any supermarket in California and be able to purchase beer, wine, or booze. It's like Christmas ever time I walk into a store. Like I forget and am surprised...again. This makes food shopping, preparing a dinner party, or entertaining so much easier without having to go to multiple locations or the "state store" to get alcohol. That's right my friends...in Pennsylvania we have to go to multiple locations to get booze, 6-packs, and cases...I know, I know...it's insanity.)
Perusing the beer garden at my local super market I see a ton of great deals and want to choose carefully. This is a big decision. As I am standing looking at the variety in front of me I hear a "Uhhhhh." Followed by a deep sarcastic valley girl sigh "Like, excuse me!" Followed by another scoff. A woman pushes me out of the way and grabs her bottle of wine. I couldn't believe how rude she was but I brush it off, pick up a 12 pack variety of local craft beer and make my way to the register. The line is out the door, which isn't a total surprise. "Who cares that the market decided to have one line open to ring out the entire city of Los Angeles?" I think to myself "Just relax, in a little bit you'll be home."
I feel a tap on my shoulder and it's Curtis. (What? You don't know your market employees by name?) "Hey man, good to see you, head to 3 I'm about to open it up." He whispers and scampers off. Man, I love this guy. I turn and make a run for his line as he hits the switch to the light up the 3 indicating he is open. This is great, one item, he'll ring me out in two seconds and I am on my way home. As I turn to greet Curtis ZOOM! A blonde haired, mid 40's, LA snob-devil-she-bitch cuts me off in sporty hiking gear...with a full cart. The same woman who pushed me earlier. Her stupid blonde ponytail poking out the back of her Nike golf hat she obviously took from her pitch-n-putt husband...he is probably a "producer." Ew. What makes it worst is that she knew, she knew what she was doing, she knew she cut me off. We locked eyes and the world froze as our surroundings dimmed black and for a second it was just her and I. She shot me the "FUCK YOU! I CUT YOU OFF AND YOU SUCK! BY THE WAY FUCK YOUR BEER!" look. We all know this look right? This isn't over yet.
The devil-monster places her gluten-free, California locally grown, organic-soy based, animal cruelty free or whatever the hell hippie products on the counter. The last thing she puts down is a fresh Italian loaf of bread from the store's bakery. I haven't said anything yet and although this has been a tragic turn of events I know I'll get her somehow. Curtis shot me a look of concern. I nod in approval. One final shrug as he silently mouths "Sorry, bro!" and starts to ring up this devils order. As I see her cart full of items jolting towards Curtis on the conveyer belt every market has I take a glance at the fresh italian loaf a bread. Maybe she is making a pasta tonight? Maybe it'll be nice for her devil family...so cute. Welp. Too Bad. Does anyone remember what I am holding...oh yes, a 12 pack of beer. Then it hits me "Man. Fuck this bitches bread." As her last few items were being rung up I make my move. She didn't see it coming. I drop my case of brew on top of this fresh bakery bread flattening it to a fresh bakery pancake. What is she going to do now?
"Hey, my bread!" she yells. Curtis shoots me a look and shakes his head with a smirk. I pretend not to notice she is yelling in my general direction and grab one of the trash magazines the market strategically places in all the lines. "Wow. Curtis did you see Kim and Kanye's wedding photos?" I nonchalantly mention to Curtis paying no mind to the devil-monster yelling and flailing her arms in front of me. Did I mention I am also still wearing my bike helmet during all of this? "Lady! Your holding everyone up!" Someone screeches from the line that quickly formed behind me. "Ma'am would you like to get another one?" Curtis trails off. "I already rung it up and we do have a line." He finishes as I add "Yeah! We do have a line!" I could see the devil fire growing in her eyes and the sweat forming on her brow as she stood fist clenched. I add "Well?" In the most sarcastic-dickhead voice I could muster. "Lady! Move!" Someone else yells from behind me. Frozen for a second and fuming she reaches into her bag pulling out a credit card, swipes to pay and starts to bag her items.
Curtis rings up my only item, I peel the bread off my beer and squeeze my way past her while she is still bagging. "Night Curtis! Thanks man!" I say and exit.
Riding home with a 12 pack in your beach cruiser basket knowing you have nothing but brews and gardening in front of you makes forgetting about that devil-monster-she-bitch all the easier. When out in public...please use your manners. And remember if you are going to be awful...someone might drop a 12 pack on your bread.
I hope you all have a fantastically relaxing weekend!
YourFriendMatt
"Man, it's like she is doing this to mess with us." I say with a sigh of depression.
House training a dog is not an easy task. Jamie and I have recently adopted a dog named Piper. She is 9 months old, weighs 6 pounds and her previous owner through her out of a moving car which left her with a broken jaw that she will more than likely never be able to close. Relax, she can eat and drink, everyone calm down, that is usually the first question we get. She kind of uses her tongue to flick water and food pellets into her mouth leaving our kitchen floor a drool ridden, gooey danger zone. This only adds to her adorable-ness (think I just made that word up) needless to say we have done our fair share of coddling, hugging, and saying ridiculous things you would say to a baby in a high pitch voice. Piper is well taken care of. The cuteness is wearing off now though.
Piper is alone longer during the day when Jamie and I are both at work and no accidents. None. Completely fine. For whatever reason she can't last the 7-8 hours we try and sleep. We walk here right before we go to bed, take away her water to try to get all the pee out of her so we can sleep. It's like fucking clock-work. Every morning there is bound to be a shot glass spill worth of Piper piss on the floor somewhere. Rub her nose in it? Check. Crate her? Check. Use stern voice? Check. And finally my fucking favorite...Puppy Pads? Check...and she laughs at them. These things are the biggest snake oil, joke-waste of money I have ever seen. I swear she pee's around them to mess with us. Perfectly around them.
When we first moved in at our Santa Monica abode we didn't think the concrete floors would be very homey or welcoming. Now they are a damn godsend. If we had carpets this place would smell absolutely awful. How? How is the damn world do you train a puppy? I did it once before with Scoob (my 17 year old dog living with my father in Pennsylvania). Why can't I get this dog trained?! Anyone? Bueller?
I am told stepping out of you comfort zones is where opportunity is found. Leaving our families, friends and most importantly comfort behind almost 6 months ago (yes...half a year...eek!...where does time go?) I think I want to attest that opportunities are found out of your comfort zones. For better or worst you will grow as a person and find out things about yourself that you never knew were possible. Look at me...I guess I am a writer now? And people actually want me to contribute to their sites and even weirder than that...read what mine has to say. That's insanity.
You will never know what is out there if you don't take a jump...and that is horrifying. Take baby steps and do something you wouldn't do today. Something small and scare yourself. It's not so bad, reflect on it and work on something bigger next time...but what the hell do I know.
My head hurts....
"FUCK! THAT'S A LOT OF BLOOD!" She yelled. 'Remains calm under pressure' is not something stated on her resume.
Jamie had just cooked us a delicious pasta dinner. She cooks and I clean. It's how it works for us. And I have no problem with it. I eat well. After we engorged ourselves with rigatoni it was time for me to get the dishes done. I went to put the spices Jamie used away in our pantry and as I opened the cabinet door another spice bottle fell out tumbling to the ground. Normal and no big deal. I shut the cabinet door of our pantry (or so I thought) bent over to get the bottle and as I came back up BAM! I clipped the corner of the cabinet door that was now open unbeknownst to me. I hit the door so hard it knocked me back spilling the spices I was holding all over the floor. I put my hand to my head instinctually rubbing my injury. When I took my had off my head it was covered in blood and I could feel the top of head getting warm. I have never seen anything like this before on my life but I cocked my head and blood started pouring out to the floor like someone had turned on a faucet.
"Jamie!" I cry. She was on the couch Pinterest-ing on her iPad. She looked up from the flower arrangements and recipes glowing on her screen and responded with a quick "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?" like I intentionally cut my head open to piss her off. "Oh, ya know, my normal 8:30 bleed-from-the-head routine, no big deal." I said sarcastically "Get me a towel!" I was now on one knee worried I would pass out from blood lose... if I was going to pass out I didn't want to fall that far. Head injuries are now joke. I can't believe how much blood flowed onto the floor. Jamie grabbed the roll of paper towels ripping a handful off and throwing them to me as fast as she could "OH MY GOD YOU ARE GOING TO DIE! SHOULD I CALL AN AMBULANCE! ARE YOU GOING TO DIE? THATS IT! I AM CALLING MY MOM!" She yelled so quickly it could be mistaken for one long incoherent run-on sentence. "Calm down. Relax." I ordered as I pulled the paper towel from my head "It's nothing, just a flesh wound..." I trailed off as more blood spilled on the floor and I reach for more paper towels.
Quick! Take my picture!
Jamie called her mom and I sat down on the floor. Not because I was light headed (pun intended) but because if anymore blood was going to spill on the floor I'd rather it was on linoleum. "MY MOM SAYS TO APPLY PRESSURE!" I heard from the other room. "What the hell did she think I was doing?" echoed in my head. At this point what else could I do? Yep, might as well grab a beer.
...HighLife or no life...
After a while the blood slowed to a stop and our night came to an end. Jamie and I agreed I should stay up a while just in case I had a concussion. I called my mother before bed for support and to fill her in on what was going on in my life. What better time than right now while my head is spewing blood? I woke up this morning feeling fine besides a minor headache.
Remember when all else fail...beer will solve everything.
First World Problems: Part One
"Motherfucker." I said after calmly collecting myself from furiously punching, screaming at and shaking the steering wheel.
Since embarking on our adventure to California we have experienced nothing but car trouble. The SUV we drove from the chilly east coast died almost immediately upon arrival here in sunny California. She served her purpose, got us here safely and then gave up the ghost like a good soldier. It's all I asked of her. We lucked out when our friends Greg and Rick drove my other car out west from Philadelphia giving us another shot at LA traffic bliss...but now we have another problem (see picture above).
My 2004 Ford Focus, with all manual features standard, has been a godsend. She has taken me all over the east coast and now out west to tackle what this terrain has to offer. Sure her ignition sticks and you have to hit the steering column with a hammer every once in a while...sure the radio will just cut out for no reason sometimes ruining your chance at harmonizing the chorus of your favorite song...sure that passenger side mirror has never worked and makes merging a fun game of life or death...but overall...she's a gem.
When I got the call from Jamie stating she couldn't get the key to turn I thought she was full of shit. We have been through this exact scenario a million times. The ignition just sticks and will get stuck now and then. Once you give the steering column a good love tap with a handy-dandy hammer it loosens up. "Jamie, my cousin who I never see is visiting and we are grabbing a drink. If I leave to travel across town to try and fix this it had better be officially stuck." Immoral words I wished I never used in retrospect. When I arrived at the scene like the knight in shining armor I think I am I arrogantly jumped into the driver's seat. Jamie was in the passenger and looked at me like I was the world's biggest dickhead. Which I am. "We'll be out of here in a minute and then we are heading back to catch my family for a drink." I state as I try to turn the key confidently. Stuck. A worried slightly embarrassed "Haha" Shot out of my mouth. "Uh, must give it a little more muscle." I try again as Jamie's eyebrows cock and a smirk creeped across her face.
After about an hour of punching, hair pulling, screaming, yelling and explicitly expelling every curse I know (and some I made up) trying to turn the key with no success we decided to call roadside assistance. "Motherfucker." I say under my breath and let out a deep sigh. This thing was like the fucking Sword in the Stone, only the chosen one could get this thing to move. I have no idea how something like this happens. Imagine the key to your car ignition would not turn and get back to me. Don't take it for granted the next time you get in the car to zip off to the mall, corner store or...to grab drinks with your family...which at this point after trying to turn a key for two hours...were surely cancelled.
We called roadside assistance, found the closest Ford service station, found a ride home and were quoted 60 minutes for the tow truck to come get us...which gave us plenty of time to get the car to Ford to be fixed. When we realized we only had 10 minutes to get to the garage and we were still on the side of the road, long past our 60 minute rescue quote time, we got worried. I called the tow company, our insurance company and Ford. No one has ever heard of a "Matt" before. Fucking fantastic. Hearing "Who are you again?" is never a good response. Evidently the fax had never went through from our insurance company to the tow company to come get us. Make sense right? "What the fuck? Who uses a fax in the first place? What the fuck even is a fax?" Echoed in my head, that was currently on fire with fury, when they told me this.
Jamie told me to calm down as I ferociously confiscated her phone and started dialing all parties numbers. I had our insurance company and tow company on 3 way on my phone and Ford on Jamie's "Mr. Bates we apologize for the inconvenience, Ford has a parking lot you can get the car towed to tonight after hours and they will look at the car first thing in the morning." Said the representative from our insurance company in a monotoned voice. "Uhhh, no we don't" responded the 20 year old valley girl receptionist from Ford. All parties were on speakerphone to hear each other. I stared at the phones, sat for a minute and responded quietly with "Guys. Do you see why I hate you all." Calmly like a serial killer and I paused "None of you have your shit together. Please communicate with each other before you present me a house of lies." My voice escalating. "Get me and my girlfriend off the goddamn side of the road immediately and somebody get my fucking car fixed" Now screaming every word. Another pause and a breath "Please." Trying to force my manners. I am not a total asshole but I think this specific scenario warrants a curse here or there. Jamie was mortified.
At the end of the day the car was finally towed...another hour later. Our tow truck operator Caesar didn't know who we were or where the car was going. We had to make another call to his boss to get it straightened out again...but he was at least a nice guy. I didn't give him shit and we laughed. It's not his fault his company is run by a bunch of motherfuckers. At this point I just gave up...signed the papers...and prayed I would see my car again someday.
YourFriendMatt
We have all been here and it's one of my biggest pet peeves. I don't care if you're an over the top roll kind of person (as pictured) or under the roll kind of person...just make sure I have enough without trying to conserve the little you left for me. Don't act like you never tried to conserve the little amount of TP you have left and your finger rips through. At this point in my life you think I would have learned to check the roll before I sit down. Here's to yelling for help and praying someone is home to bring you a roll.
YourFriendMatt
Spoiler: This is gross...
"Ew, what is that!" She yelled as I replied with "I don't know just pull it out!"
We don't know why but our dog loves to find anything in the trash with our scent on it...especially the most gross scents. Jamie and I had been out food shopping this past week leaving our dog, Piper, alone in the house. We try to put anything dangerous to her up high and throw away any trash in the proper receptacle...as anyone with common sense would. We even close the bathroom door when we leave so she can't get into the bin we have in there for all things gross.
Arriving home after food shopping we opened the door to a grotesque scene looking like piper had killed a small bird on our rug. "What the hell happened in here? Did she catch a mouse?" I state as I go in for a closer look. Turns out I was wrong, as I tend to be. This small bird happened to be a heavy flow tampon Piper found...flowed on...with a trail of tissue and q-tips leading from the bathroom. Wonderful. "Welp." Shrugging "Looks like we forgot to close the bathroom door." turning to Jamie who is mortified. Rightfully so. I couldn't help but notice...not all of the tampon was there. "Hey? Did she eat most of that tampon?" In the most respectful and inquisitive voice I could muster. She didn't know what to say and immediately ran to get paper towels to clean this mess up. Another afternoon here at Casa de Bates.
A day had past and we were worried if she did in fact eat the tampon some of it would hurt her or obstruct her intestines. I couldn't help but wonder "Isn't that it's job? To clog things up?" After another day had past and Piper was acting completely normal we thought we were in the clear. Nobody ever wants an expensive vet visit. We went to go see the sunset a few nights later and were greeted by our usual excited pup arriving home after. She jumped up and down on my leg and then went to greet Jamie. As Piper turned I noticed something unusual with her walk....and there was a white string hanging out of her. "Holy shit, Jamie please check out Piper's butt." Yes. It is what you think it is and thats the point of this whole thing. Jamie pulled a used tampon, let me rephrase that, her used tampon out of our dog. "Welp, Pipe. I guess were blood sisters now." She stated.
I love this woman.
YourFriendMatt
"We should have just walked..."
Last week Ryan told me he was moving. "Totally awesome new place on the beach man! I am so pumped!" As a friend this is one if the last things you want to hear because an important question immediately follows up with that statement. The dreaded "Hey are you free this weekend?" Which translates to "Dude, please help me, I would do it for you...Come on! I'll buy you lunch! Just help me lift this fucking couch!" I let him plead his case, asked what actually has to be moved and where. Turns out we weren't going far, he didn't have that much, and beer was guaranteed.
I arrived to his house on a hot, sunny Sunday afternoon. We were only moving him about a half a mile away. The biggest thing is his futon, no big deal. I figured he would have some sort of truck to get everything moved in one swoop. Wrong again, as I tend to be. My friend Ry drives a yellow Lotus convertible with trunk space the size of a shoe box. What the hell are we going to fit in that?
This is Ry...and the vehicle he thought would be good for moving...he is brilliant...at least he had beer...
Ry's car is so small that I, at 6' 2" stature, cannot fully fit into it and my legs do not fully stretch out in either of the seats. "How the hell are we supposed to move this crap when I can barely fit in this car." I ask. Ry is not the best critical thinker and he shrugged at this question. What else could we do?...We had a beer while we tried to figure this out. We knew we were going to have to get the futon moved and were stumped on how we were going to do it. Our friend Jeff stopped by while we were thinking of solutions for this problem. "Why don't you guys just water-taxi the futon over?" Jeff said. All of our eyes lit up. Ry lives on the Venice canals in LA and has 2 canoes... best idea ever right? We all ran to the canals to size up the canoes. A collective "This has to work" conversation broke out and we excitedly got on our way to execute our plans.
With a quick buzz and a new sense of accomplishment we decided we had to make one trip before our water adventure. The first trek we thought we would put as much in the trunk "space" as possible, sit me in the passenger seat, close the door and then pack more stuff on top of me through the roof. Sounds good right? Now that we were packed we set sail for a 2 minute drive around the corner to get his stuff moved to his new beach front house.
We both forgot it was St. Patricks Day weekend and it took us an hour to go less than 6 blocks...gotta love LA...all while it was 90 degrees out...with suitcases crushing me...and Rys gas light was on from the moment we left. To break down now would be poetic.
Finally arriving at Ry's new place we unpacked and I met Ry's roommate Scuba Steve. Turns out Steve is a photographer and when we told him about our plan to water-taxi a futon on 2 small canoes he wanted to document the whole thing.
Determination. stevenjayphoto.com...really rad stuff
We decided the car was now worthless and left it at Ry's new place. It only took us 6 minutes to walk back. "We should have just walked. " We both agreed. We quickly got the futon out back to the boats, tied it securely with guitar quarter inch cable (true band guys...it's all we had), and set sail to victory.
"I can't believe how well this is working!" We kept yelling at each other paddling and taking chugs from our Pabst pounders we secured at the corner Asian market before our voyage. Everyone walking the canals clapped, cheered us on and Steve snapped photos. "It's to crowded to take the roads! We're taking to the sea!" Ry would yell to a passerby and slug his beer. "Yeah! It's moving day!" I would yell after him choking on a swig. At the end of our trek we still had to get the futon out of the canoes and carry it 2 more blocks...and we did so with passion and fury....mainly fueled by the beer.
I still ill don't know where my shoes are but that is neither here nor there. Tales like this are what true friendship is all about. Ry is now happily moved in and loving his new location. We spent the rest of the night walking the beach, eating mexican food and drinking champagne. Not too bad. I think there is two morals to this story. First you can make any task, no matter how shitty it is...like helping your friend move, and make it an adventure. Secondly, when your friend asks him to help you move make sure he has beer.
YourFriendMatt
Adopt me...
"What the hell happened to her mouth?" was all I could say as I saw the four pound, squirrel-like, fur-ball sitting at my feet. Her tongue hanging out of her cocked head staring up at me...
Jamie and I had a rare lazy Sunday off together. Our weekly work schedules never match up so we wanted to make sure we got the most out of the day. Flea Market? Brunch? Beers? Early dinner in and an old movie? It was all on the agenda.
A cloudless sunny morning set the tone for our day and we wanted to make sure we got the most out of it. Luckily for me the local pet adoption was having an open house in a parking lot on Main Street that we had to check out...according to Jamie. Bastards. It's like they had it planned and knew we were coming. We ambled through the vacant lot of misfit animals and their misfit volunteers holding their leashes. I turned my back for a second to stare at a three legged-pit bull and Jamie was gone. I was hoping she was on the other side of the fence ready for brunch but I could not have been more wrong. I almost tripped over her. She was coiled into a ball on the oil stained parking lot asphalt clinging and cottling something furry.
"This ones got a real sad story. She needs a good home. She was thrown from a car when she was a puppy and someone found her on the side of the road. Her jaw was broken and may never close." Pausing for dramatic effect, tisking and shaking her head. She knew what she was doing. She was good. Damn it. "And needs a good home." Said the overweight college drop out peering over her black rimmed hipster glasses "But she is such a cutie!" Jamie looked up from the ground to her with an enthusiastic "Yes! She does need a good home!" She turned and stared at me as I tried talking down off the pet adoption ledge but I knew I was screwed. "IT'S SO FLUFFY I'M GONNA DIE!" was all I kept hearing muffled over kissing noises "Matt, we need her." And thats when I knew I was totally screwed. I manage to talk Jamie into leaving the parking lot...not after she gathered all the pamphlets and information she would need to surely adopt this animal...with or without discussing it with me.
A few days had gone by. We were back to our work week. No dog. "Yes!" having a conversation with myself walking from the driveway one night "Maybe she forgot about it." As I pushed the door open I couldn't have been more wrong...again. "Matt, don't be mad. She needed a good home..."
YourFriendMatt
