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My “T’s Manscaping Rules” Post

I did this once in my life. It absolutely sucked.

I am a full blooded testosterone filled man. I like to look good. I stay in shape. I take care of myself. But I am far from being a pretty boy. Far from being a metrosexual. Case in point. My former neighbor and greatest QB to ever play the game, Tom Brady. He’s a metrosexual. A pretty boy. The only thing I have in common with pretty boy metrosexuals like Tom Brady is grooming. AKA Manscaping. It’s necessary. Every man does it. Few talk about it. Well not T. You want to know about Manscaping rules? Here we go.

The face
I shave every other day. I like a day old stubble. Works well when I’m suited up at the office. Even better on the weekends. I rarely shave on the weekends unless I have a good reason. Like a hot date. Occasionally I’ll grow in a goatee. That’s it. If you grow in a beard keep it tight. It should be a playoff beard really. If you grow in one of those really thin trimmed beard things like you’re a rapper or a boy band singer, you’re an asshole. If you have star shaped symbols or other weird shaped beard designs? You are a douche.

Head
I get a haircut every 3 weeks. By the time you’re 30, you should have a look. It’s not a style. It’s more like a whatever. But it’s your whatever. Usually 5 days after my haircut is when it looks it’s best. I don’t know why. It just does. I keep the sides short. The top a little longer. And throw some shit in sometimes to stick up the front. It’s my whatever. But I keep it looking good and right. You should too. No excuse to go longer than 3 weeks without a haircut.

Eyebrows
Mines are thick. That’s what she said. But I keep them tight with a trimmer. I pluck the loose hairs in between because I don’t want an Italian man unibrow. Fuck that. That is weird. Trim those brows bro.

Ears
I don’t have a major problem but the occasional long hair started sprouting out after the age of 25. I trim that shit with a trimmer too. It’s weird but I’m a man. Shit happens. If you have ear hairs, they shouldn’t be seen. Your ears shouldn’t look like a cactus.

Nose
Pluck those hairs bro. Nothing more nasty than talking to a chick and a long ass jungle vine drops out of your nose and floats in the wind.

Back of the neck
This area should always be clean. In between haircuts I take buzzers to it. Women appreciate the clean look back there. They like touching it when they pull you in close to tell you a secret. Haha.

Chest
I’m Italian. So I have manly chest hair. I have since I hit puberty. I also used to be a young gym rat who used to shave his chest almost daily. Now that I’m 30+ not so much anymore. I embrace my chest hair. I’m a fucking man. Not a little boy. I’m also not a werewolf like some Italians, so my chest mane stays well kept mostly on it’s own. With the occasional Summer shave down. Hey. It’s a habit I’m not sure needs breaking. Depends on the chick in your bed yo. Remember that.

Back
Back hair is a touchy subject for men. It’s like chicks who can grow in man mustaches. Not those cute light blonde chick mustaches. I’m talking like the shit I can grow on my face! And a lot of women can. So you run to go get that shit waxed 3 times a week at the place near your work on the down low and act like you don’t have a problem. That’s cool. I get it. Same with back hair for us dudes. I’m lucky enough that my awesome Italian man genetics don’t give me a forest on my back but I can grow in a small thin coating up top near my shoulders. I used to go get a wax like every 6 months. It wasn’t really painful. Just annoying. But the chicks that did it were really hot and I always hoped for a happy ending because it felt like a Taiwanese massage parlor. It was pretty cheap for me because there wasn’t much to wax. Thank God. Then a few years ago I was at Bed Bath & Beyond with a chick bored out of my damn skull and came across the Man Groomer. It’s a long thin buzzer for your back basically. $40. Score. Now I use that when I’m Manscaping. Maybe you should too.

The whole man junk area
A real man doesn’t take a razor and shave his dick area bald. Don’t try to look like a newborn baby. That’s weird bro. Seriously. And you’re not a porn star with that thing. Chill out. But don’t have a 70s porn bush down there either. Take the buzzers to it once a week and trim it down a little. Above it. The balls. The shaft. The taint. Keep it tight and looking good. It’s our gift to the world!

The arms
I’ve recently been told by a woman that shaved man arms make her want to vomit. The old gym rat in me says to shave them down. Plus I have tattoos on my forearms. Honestly, most of the time now I just let them be. I’m a man who has hairy arms. Not like Robin Williams fur hairy. But Italian hair nonetheless. Fuck it. I’m a grown ass man and you can still see the tats. I say keep the arm hair. Until you don’t want to. I flip flop on this like the chest sometimes. Sue me.

Anywhere else on the body
Ass. Legs. Armpits. Toe knuckles. You do whatever the hell you want. I consider these parts unimportant until they need to be important. If you get serious with a chick and she has to look at you and all these parts, then just do whatever the hell she says to them. Because she’ll be touching them and looking at them more than you. And all those other parts I named above too actually. At this point, she is your Manscaping expert. Keep her happy. Just makes sure she does her Ladyscaping to keep you happy.

Manscaping. We all should do it. Not just Tom Brady. Now you know.

Do you manscape? Is it wrong? Is it a necessity? Do you even care??? Ladies, what do you think? Tweet me, Facebook me or comment it up right here on t-blawg!

Until next time. Always take it there.

T

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My “The 1st Ten: T’s Bromance Comedy” Post

T's autobiography or one hell of a movie?!

In case you didn’t know, I’m not just an honest, funny, original blogger. I’m also a screenwriter. And some of you have asked to read some of my scripts. Ok. Some of my work is being shopped around but I would like to share some material right here on t-blawg. Copyrighted material! So you steal it, I sue! In Hollywood if you can get somebody to read through the first ten pages, then you may have a decent script. It’s the introduction. So I am presenting a new feature here on t-blawg. It’s called “The 1st Ten”.

This script is a bromance comedy. PG-13ish. Think “The Hangover” meets “40 Year-Old Virgin.”

How does the ultimate bachelor have a relationship with “the one” when all he knows is hooking up and his married buddies refuse to let him settle down because they live for his many conquests?

I present “T’s Bromance Comedy”:

*Don’t mind the formatting here!

FADE IN:

INT. TOMMY’S BEDROOM. DAY
A beautiful WOMAN, 23, is on top of TOMMY, 25, kissing him in bed. Tommy is good looking. He’s in shape and has a boyish smile. The two just finished having sex. She drops and lays next to him smiling and rubbing his bare chest.

TOMMY
(smiling)
Now that’s what I’m talking about!

WOMAN
Oh my God. That was amazing.

TOMMY
(proudly)
No doubt.

WOMAN
I just want to let you know I never do stuff like this.

TOMMY
You could’ve fooled me babe.

WOMAN
Not the sex silly. I mean meeting a guy in a bar and going home with him. I never do that.

TOMMY
Me neither.

WOMAN
Yeah right.

TOMMY
Seriously. I never go home with guys I meet in bars.

The woman laughs. She reaches over for her cell phone and checks the time.

WOMAN
Shit! I’m going to be late for work!

TOMMY
It’s all good honey! It’s only 10:00!

She hops out of bed and rushes around trying to get dressed as Tommy smiles with his arms behind his head.

WOMAN
Some of us actually have to work real nine to five jobs!

TOMMY
Well one day maybe you too can be in charge.

WOMAN
I thought you were only like a VP of publishing or something!

TOMMY
Only? Honey, if the President dies, that means I’m in charge of everything!

WOMAN
I don’t think it works like that. If your company is anything like mine, there’s probably like thirteen other VPs and at least five presidents.

TOMMY
What’s your point?

WOMAN
I don’t even have time to go home and change! People are going to know I hooked up.

TOMMY
Dude the walk of shame sucks.

She runs over to Tommy and gives him a kiss.

WOMAN
Well it was worth it.

TOMMY
It was spectacular! I was spectacular!

WOMAN
(laughing)
Yes you were! Gotta go! Dinner this weekend?

TOMMY
(beat)
Yeah sure.

WOMAN
Call me!

TOMMY
You betcha!

She leaves the apartment.

Tommy looks up from bed smiling ear to ear.

TOMMY (CONT’D)
T, you are the man.

Tommy jumps out of bed.

His place is a bachelor pad. The apartment is full of expensive electronics and furniture.

He turns on his iPod dock and plays Jay-Z.

TOMMY (CONT’D)
(singing)
Big pimpin’ spendin’ cheese!

Tommy showers and then goes through his assortment of suits in his closet.

He lays down different combinations of expensive suits, ties and shirts.

TOMMY (CONT’D)
What’s the point? I look good in them all!

Tommy is suited up. He drinks a protein shake and then grabs his bag and leaves.

INT. OFFICE. DAY
BILLY, 23, is sitting in his cubicle on the phone. Billy is a young looking, wide eyed man-child.

BILLY
I know I went out last night but it’s Friday! Guys night out honey!
(beat)
Last night was Thirsty Thursday and T nailed a big account! We talked about this already. Stop yelling.
(beat)
I KNOW HOW HE IS!
(beat)
I’m not raising my voice. Sorry. I don’t know if he hooked up or not.
(beat)
You’re right. He IS such a man whore! I don’t know why I hang out with him either.
(beat)
Okay! I said okay!

Tommy walks in.

TOMMY
Bill Eazay what up kid?!

They high five.

BILLY
(on the phone)
Gotta go! I’ll call you later!

He SLAMS the phone down.

BILLY (CONT’D)
Big T! 11:30 and just rolling into work. I love it!

TOMMY
Was that the wifey?

BILLY
She was giving me crap about going out with you last night.

TOMMY
Still?

BILLY
She’s always giving me crap now. Since the wedding. Seven weeks ago.

TOMMY
I keep telling you to tell her that you’re not out with me anymore. You’re always going to be guilty by association man.

BILLY
I know.

TOMMY
And didn’t you go home at like 7:00?

BILLY
Yes. Everything changed since we got married. Just seven weeks ago!

TOMMY
I know man. I was there.

BILLY
She’s like a different woman.

TOMMY
You were warned. A lot.

Billy starts to smile.

TOMMY (CONT’D)
What?

BILLY
So how did it go with Sharon?

TOMMY
Who’s Sharon?

BILLY
The chick from the bar last night!

TOMMY
Was that her name?

BILLY
Oh man! You hooked up?! Again!

Tommy laughs.

BILLY (CONT’D)
Man I saw that coming! I miss everything now! Tell me how it went down.

Billy’s phone RINGS. He leans over to look at it.

BILLY (CONT’D)
Dammit! Why is she calling me now!?

Tommy starts to walk away laughing.

BILLY (CONT’D)
Wait don’t go! I want details man!  Details! I need them!

TOMMY
I’ll tell you at lunch. Come grab me in twenty minutes.

BILLY
Lunch? You just got in.

TOMMY
What’s your point?

Billy’s cell phone starts RINGING.

BILLY
Now she’s calling me on both phones.

TOMMY
(laughing)
You better answer that.

BILLY
Keep laughing. This might be you some day!

TOMMY
No way dude! I love my life!

BILLY
I love my WIFE!

The phones keeping RINGING. Tommy walks away.

TOMMY
Keep telling yourself that!

BILLY
See you in twenty bro!

Billy answers his cell phone.

BILLY (CONT’D)
WHAT?!
(beat)
I’m sorry for raising my voice honey.

INT. TOMMY’S OFFICE. LATER
Tommy is leaning back in his chair with his feet on his desk. He’s on the phone.

TOMMY
Jon, I’m telling you this girl wasn’t a Boston ten. She was an LA ten.
(beat)
I’m serious man!
(beat)
Hey you got out the game.  I remember when we raised your jersey and retired your number at your bachelor party two years ago.

Tommy laughs.

TOMMY (CONT’D)
Your wife’s still a ten man. And she’ll still be one after my god-daughter is born.

Billy RUNS into Tommy’s office.

BILLY
Walk out here with me now!

TOMMY
What?

BILLY
WALK OUT HERE WITH ME NOW!

TOMMY
Jon, I’ll see you tonight. Everybody’s in. Later.

Tommy hangs up the phone.

TOMMY (CONT’D)
Don’t be storming all up in here and yelling at me like that. I’m a VP bitch!

BILLY
You have to see the new chick.

Tommy jumps out of his chair.

TOMMY
She hot?

BILLY
What do you think?

TOMMY
I don’t know with you. You have no scale. I’ve met your wife.

BILLY
My wife is hot bro.

Tommy puts his suit jacket on and fixes his tie.

TOMMY
I’m messing with you. Let’s go.

They walk out of Tommy’s office quickly.

SUSAN, 24, is a sexy, provocatively dressed woman. She is walking around the office with ALLISON, 25, introducing her to the employees. Allison is the beautiful girl next door. Her big eyes are amazing. A natural beauty without trying.

TOMMY (CONT’D)
Whoa.

BILLY
What did I tell you? My scale is the bomb. She’s a ten. An LA ten!

TOMMY
Slow your roll. She could be good from far, far from good. Plus she’s with Susan. The biggest crotch blocker around.

BILLY
That’s cause she still wants you.

TOMMY
Of course she does.

The two women start to walk over to them.

TOMMY (CONT’D)
Quick act busy.

The girls see them pick up random papers from the desk they are standing near.

TOMMY (CONT’D)
(loudly)
So, what we need to do here is compile all of our resources and-

BILLY
Right, right.

TOMMY
And then we will be able to utilize the pythagorean theorem here-

The girls get closer.

BILLY
Absolutely. Absolutely Mr. Vice President.

SUSAN
Stop acting like you two are working.

TOMMY
And then the result will allow us to make millions. Possibly billions!

Allison smiles.

BILLY
Maybe even trillions!

TOMMY
(slowly)
May be.

BILLY
You are such a genius.

TOMMY
I know. Oh hey Susan. Didn’t see you there. And who is this?

SUSAN
Whatever. Tommy, Billy this is Allison. She’s the new senior graphic designer in marketing.

ALLISON
Hi, nice to meet you.

Tommy is smitten.

BILLY
Hi.

Tommy reaches his hand out.

TOMMY
So nice to meet you Allison.

SUSAN
Try staying away from this one Tommy. I know it will be hard for you.

TOMMY
What are you talking about?

SUSAN
Tommy is an asshole. And Billy is a border line retard.

Allison laughs.

BILLY
You’re in HR! You have to stop describing us like that to new employees Susan!

ALLISON
Got it. Mentally challenged. And A-hole.

TOMMY
(smiling)
Not only am I an A-hole, but I’m also the VP of publishing. I’m important. Please remember that.

ALLISON
(smiling)
Okay, I’ll be sure to remember that.

TOMMY
That’s all I ask.

The girls walk away. Allison, still smiling, glances back at Tommy.

So there it is. I shared the 1st ten pages of my bromance comedy. Can you tell where the inspiration came from? Does Tommy sound familiar? I bet he does! This script was actually t-blawg before t-blawg existed. The story gets better.

Would you read more??? Let me know on here, Facebook or Twitter!

Until next time. Always take it there.

T

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My “T Defines Pink Hatter” Post

Not just for shallow women either

For as long as t-blawg has existed you have heard about my disdain for Pink Hatters. But what the hell is a Pink Hatter exactly? I’ll tell you. During our “Decade of Dominance” of 2001-2011, a lot of fake ass and wannabe Bostonians jumped on our sports teams’ bandwagons because we went from total suckiness to total awesomeness. It started with the Pats. Then the Sox. Then the Celtics. And now with the Bruins with their epic Stanley Cup victory. Our arenas and stadiums have become full of fake fan women wearing pink Pats hats. Pink Sox hats. Pink Cs hats. Pink Bruins hats. They are women who don’t know shit about the team. About the players. About the history. About loyalty. They just wanted to be seen at these games and/or finally cheer them on because our teams had become cool in their eyes. They thought they looked cute. Then the term Pink Hatter also started to be thrown around at guys who were also jumping on the bandwagon. Even though they didn’t actually wear the pink hats, they still became pink fucking hatters in the eyes of real fans due to their lack of loyalty and total embracement of fakeness and douchiness. They are Pink Hatters. How can you spot a Pink Hatter? Do you think you may know a Pink Hatter? Are you a Pink Hatter yourself? Well here’s how you know! I’m defining the Pink Hatter right here, right now. T style of course.

You are a Pink Hatter if….you never cheered for a Boston sports team before 2001.

You are a Pink Hatter if….you’ve never been to an actual game but claim to be a “real fan.”

You are a Pink Hatter if….you had the balls to cheer “We want the Cup!” recently but didn’t start cheering it until like game 6 or 7 of the Stanley Cup finals.

You are a Pink Hatter if….you just want to get out of work early as the reason why you go to our Duck Boat victory parades.

You are a Pink Hatter if….you can’t name a single player when they are not wearing their uniform.

You are a Pink Hatter if….you are more concerned about Tom Brady’s hair than his stats.

You are a Pink Hatter if….you didn’t cry when Cam Neely tried to come back.

You are a Pink Hatter if….you didn’t enjoy Pedro tossing Don Zimmer by his old ass head.

You are a Pink Hatter if….you didn’t know Drew Bledsoe, Scott Zolak or Steve Grogan existed before Tom Brady.

You are a Pink Hatter if….you don’t remember “Squish the Fish” or “Bury the Bears”.

You are a Pink Hatter if….you didn’t believe in “The Curse of the Great Bambino”.

You are a Pink Hatter if….you don’t know who Mookie Wilson, Bucky Dent or Aaron Boone are.

You are a Pink Hatter if….you wear heels and a dress to a Cs game like you’re at the club.

You are a Pink Hatter if….any of your sports gear has “bling”.

You are a Pink Hatter if….you need a drinking glove to tailgate at The Razor in January.

You are a Pink Hatter if….you don’t always order 2 beers/2 dogs every time you get up to piss at Fenway.

You are a Pink Hatter if….you need to ask at Fenway “What is the name of that yellow pole again?”

You are a Pink Hatter if….you don’t remember that one time Jose Canseco pitched for the Sox.

You are a Pink Hatter if….the names Troy Brown, Adam Oates, Mike Greenwell and Xavier McDaniel don’t sound familiar.

You are a Pink Hatter if….you don’t get emotional when talking about Len Bias or Reggie Lewis.

You are a Pink Hatter if….you don’t know the original Big 3.

You are a Pink Hatter if….you never said the words “wait ‘til next year”.

You are a Pink Hatter if….you only watch during the playoffs.

You are a Pink Hatter if….you claim to be a diehard yet tweet about how you’re out to dinner during a playoff game; regular season Yankees games; Lakers games; Habs games or Colts games!

You are a Pink Hatter if….you just want to get on the jumbotron.

You are a Pink Hatter if….you never sat near the dancing old guy with the hat and mustache, the dancing little kid, Santa Claus or Tupac Shakur at the Garden during a Cs game.

You are a Pink Hatter if….you didn’t have a crush on the hotness that was Kelly the Ball Girl.

You are a Pink Hatter if….you’re a dopey college kid who got killed by a bean bag bullet to the head because you only took to the streets of Boston after one of our teams won a championship to act like an idiot by climbing a tree, a traffic light, a light pole or jumped on the hood of a car without even watching the game we just won.

You are a Pink Hatter if….you only banged the players without even knowing why you banged them just because you heard they’re on the team. Groupie ho.

You are a Pink Hatter if….you didn’t know Andy Moog or Reggie Lemelin before Tim Thomas.

You are a Pink Hatter if….your stomach doesn’t turn when you still watch old tapes of when Bird’s back started to go.

You are a Pink Hatter if….you don’t remember when there weren’t any seats on the Monster.

You are a Pink Hatter if….you never went to a game in the old Garden.

You are a Pink Hatter if….you don’t remember where and when Paul Pierce got stabbed at that club that one time.

You are a Pink Hatter if….you don’t remember where you were when Bledsoe got taken out and that backup QB came in.

You are a Pink Hatter if….you don’t hear yourself saying out loud to anyone in ear shot at any family wedding, funeral or other important event “Why isn’t the game on?”, “Where the fuck is the TV in this place? The game is starting.” or “Does anyone know the score of the game?”

You are a Pink Hatter if….you don’t respect the bloody sock.

You are a Pink Hatter if….the name Grady Little doesn’t piss you the fuck off.

You are a Pink Hatter if….you don’t giggle like a little girl when Don & Remy giggle like little girls.

You are a Pink Hatter if….you don’t know why the year 1986 is etched in real Bostonians memories.

You are a Pink Hatter if….you think Tommy is biased when it comes to the Celtics. No way! He calls it down the line bro! Tommy Point!!!

You are a Pink Hatter if….you have to ask why they’re booing Kevin Youkilis.

You are a Pink Hatter if….you never appreciated Hazel Mae’s epic boobs or Tina Cervasio’s epic mouth or Heidi Watney’s epic everything.

You are a Pink Hatter if….you think it’s Black & Yellow instead of Black & Gold around here.

You are a Pink Hatter if….you didn’t believe “The Tuna” was going to get us a Super Bowl victory.

You are a Pink Hatter if….you don’t bow down to the Gods that are Bobby Orr, Ted Williams or Larry Bird every time their names are mentioned.

You are a Pink Hatter if….you don’t know why Doug Flutie was, is and will always be popular around Boston.

You are a Pink Hatter if….you don’t know damn well that Larry Bird ain’t walking through that door!

You are a Pink Hatter if….you don’t do the double fist pump with Rene every time.

You are a Pink Hatter if….you don’t get out of your seat and do the “For another Patriots’ first down!” first down gesture at Gillette.

You are a Pink Hatter if….you don’t sing “Sweet Caroline” for at least another 30 seconds after the music stops at Fenway.

You are a Pink Hatter if….you don’t know when it’s time to do the Ric Flair “Woooooo!” at a Bs game.

You are a Pink Hatter if….you don’t know when it’s “Peanut Butter Jelly Time!”

And finally. You are a Pink Hatter if….you wear any pink Boston sports gear; need to ask any Boston sports questions about anything before 2001 because you don’t know shit; or don’t have a legit answer to “You missed the game???”

There you have it. T has defined the Pink Hatter. Why I hate Pink Hatters. And how to recognize a no good, dirty Pink Hatter. It is now on all of us to rid our great city of Boston of these Pink Hatters. Let’s do it people!!!

Are you a Pink Hatter? Do you know of any other Pink Hatter symptoms? Let me know! Hit me up here. On Facebook. Or on Twitter. Or even if you ever just want to talk Boston sports!

Until next time. Always take it there.

T

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My “Breaking the Bad Dating Cycle” Post

If you use this line, you're bad at dating

In all my years of dating I have come to one mind boggling conclusion. You ready? Here it is. 99% of people dating go for two types. The ones that treat you bad and the ones you can treat bad. This is fact! And this is sad. Now congrats to you 1%ers out there who have managed to meet somebody who you treat well and treats you as equally well. As Christian Bale once said on the set of the Terminator “Ooohhhh good for yooouuuu!” The rest of us are still in the trenches still battling and trying to figure this shit out. Well I think I have. And I’m going to share it right now. You want to break that bad dating cycle you are in? You want to start to actually enjoy dating? Well old T got you covered. Here’s how you break that bad cycle. Let’s all break that bad cycle!

Let’s not be nice at first.
WHAT?! Don’t be nice? Exactly. Be shallow at first. If you don’t have even the itsy bitsy hint of a physical attraction to the person who just walked up to you at the bar then let it be known. A simple “Thank you. I’m flattered. But I’m not interested.” Done! If you don’t have interest don’t give your number! If you don’t have interest, don’t drink the damn free drink! If you’re not excited about the date, then don’t go on the date! Now we can all focus on the people who actually have a genuine interest from the start.

Your friends aren’t always right!
Your friends love you, of course. They have your back, yes. But sometimes we listen to them and they’re…wrong. Maybe they are jealous. Maybe they are bitter. Maybe they are just stupid. You know who really knows what and who you like? YOU. Make the call yourself. Get to know the person you are dating regardless of what your friends may or may not know about the person. You know best. Find out and decide for yourself. Do not date on assumptions from those outside of the things the two of you are sharing alone together.

Go Against Type
Date somebody who is the complete opposite of the type of person you usually date. Go in open minded. Try it. See what happens. You have nothing to lose and maybe a whole new world to gain. If it sucks, then go back to the type who has made your life miserable for so many years.

Nobody Meets Somebody by Staying In or Going Home Early
Don’t stay in your house 7 nights a week! Don’t be that person who goes home early when all of your friends are still out having a great time! Yes we all have to be up early for work. Yes we all have AM meetings. Yes we all have to make it to the gym. But you never know what you missed. And I’m not talking about the stupid shit your drunk friend usually does every time. I’m talking about the perfect someone who walked in the second after you left and you never even met. Think about that shit.

Don’t Start It With Sex
Do not hookup one drunk night and think you can now date. Do not go on the first date, hookup and think you can now date. You are out of your fucking mind if you think it will work out. Eventually, shit will end. It will end badly. It will end awkwardly. All because you couldn’t hold out a couple of dates to get to know each other before you boned. Trust me on this. I speak from experience. I do not repeat this mistake.

Don’t End It With Sex
If you think you can have one last banging session before you break up with somebody and then start dating somebody else fresh and new without having any lingering effects from that last banging, you are bat shit crazy! You are breaking up for a reason. If you still want to have sex, then you still want to be with that person. It’s not fair to the new person you are dating and most importantly, it’s not fair to yourself. Smarten the fuck up.

Mixed signals are pointless
If you like the person you just met or are dating, tell them. No having to think about it. No wondering if you should or shouldn’t. If you have any hesitation, tell them and then don’t date them. Move on to the next one. No leading on. That is just straight douchebaggery.

The Games Stop in Your early 20s People
I played games. You’ve played games. Did it. Learned from it. No longer doing it. If you are 25+ and still playing those “playa/playette” games, you are a piece of shit and deserve to be alone forever. Karma will bite you in your ass. Don’t play games with those who don’t deserve it when you are an adult just because you can. Because if you are still doing this, then you aren’t an adult. Dating isn’t a fucking power game. Learn this.

Once You Let Somebody Know You Like Them and They Don’t Feel The Same? Walk Away. You’ll Never Be Friends.
This is so obvious yet some of us still want to be friends. Why? We all already have plenty of friends. You’ll never be real friends with this person. Ever. Regardless of how nice they are, cut them off. You have to.

It’s Not Just About You
Dating is a compromise. Put them first. They put you first. You give then take. They give then take. That’s it. If you have constantly been putting yourself first in every one of your dating situations, now you know why none of them ever work out.

Jealousy Is Never a Good Look
The #1 dating killer! Why be jealous? If they don’t want to be with you, then let them go. Otherwise, just be secure in yourself and know how much of a great catch you are and they will know the same. Don’t be jealous. Be confident in your shit. Own your shit.

Check Your Baggage At Your Door
The key is “YOUR” door. Check it before you leave your place. Don’t bring it to theirs. The past is the past. Let it stay there. Only worry about what you have now and want for the future. That’s it. Start fresh and just enjoy each other!

So there you have it! This information is a surefire way to break the bad dating cycle. Print this out. Put it in your wallet, purse, fanny pack, back pocket, whatever. Bring it on your first few dates and then thank me later. Now go out and have some good fucking dates people!!!

What do you think of my advice? My dating posts are usually pretty popular. Have anything to add to help break the bad dating cycle? Comment here, tweet or facebook me!

Until next time. Always take it there.

T

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My “meTaphor-Carnival Poster” Post

From the ages of 12-18 I had a Pamela Anderson poster collage on my wall. t-fact

*Metaphor is the concept of understanding one thing in terms of another. A metaphor is a figure of speech that constructs an analogy between two things or ideas; the analogy is conveyed by the use of a metaphorical word in place of some other word.

This is how T does metaphors. Read between the lines. Welcome to meTaphor.

Carnival Poster-A meTaphor

Growing up in the 80s & 90s carnivals were pretty popular. And they had some fun games to play. They had games like Water Gun Clown Balloon. Shoot The Star Out. Dart Balloon Pop. Why did I play these pointless games? I liked to play because I was there, I was bored, it was fun and I had some cash to waste. Sound familiar? The prize I always liked to play for was a carnival poster. When I won, I usually picked the hot chick poster. Sometimes a famous chick would have a poster out. Sometimes it was one the caliber of Pamela Anderson. Sometimes it was a not so famous chick. But still hot nonetheless. It was great to look at. I would carry it around the carnival. Take it on rides. Like the Gravitron. A ride that just spins round and round. And The Pirate Boat. A rocky ride that would get you sick. And of course, The Head Over Heel Flipping Cart Ferris Wheel that you had no control over whatsoever. But I held onto that damn poster. I took care of it. Because I liked it. I earned it. I spent money on it. Then after I left the carnival, I would take the poster home. Gently unroll it. Find a nice place for it on the wall in my room. Put it up on the wall. It was a thing of beauty. It was my prize. I kept it around for a while too. Sometimes a whole year until another carnival came into town and I wanted a new one. I would play more games. Spend more money. And then finally win a new one. Take it on rides. Safely and gently carry it around. Then I would take it home. Tear down the old poster. Toss it in the trash. And gently put up the new one in it’s place. This cycle would go on and on. You work for it. You take care of it. You appreciate it. Then you tear it down and throw it away. And replace it. Stop. Start. And repeat. The carnival poster.

A meTaphor.

What did you think of this meTaphor? Better than the cereal meTaphor? Is it too much? Over the head? Do you know what I’m talking about??? Let me know. Reply here, on the Facebook wall or Tweet a dude.

Until next time. Always take it there.

T

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My “The T Substantial Dating Demographic” Post

A pie chart can explain anything. Anything!

I’m not saying this happens to everybody but I’ve come to a point in my life where I have decided to close the gap on the women who I get involved with. Now, the only reason I’m doing this is because I’ve had my fair share of women of different ages/types ranging from the youngest: a 19 year-old model who was 12 years younger than me to the oldest: a 44 year-old cougar who was 17 years older than me and everything in between. I’ve run my age dating gamut. Everywhere from crazy young hot sex with drama and sleepless party nights to older women who already have been married with children and just want sex with a younger guy. What have I had in between? A bunch of bullshit really. The bullshit stands out the most. Very few shining moments. Too few good women. Too few healthy, “normal for T anyways” women to date. Too much of being a side dick for some mental chick. Or being the undercover lover for some chick in a relationship. And even sometimes I have been an emotional friend that provided the occasional cuddle. Countless times of drunk texting and pulling rabbits out of hats when magic hour was underway at the bar or club. Enough of that shit I say.

The end result of my peak years of partying, dating, booty calling, side banging has left me with….nothing. Seriously. Oh sure these stories make for some great blog posts and elevated this blog. Some great shit talking with my boys for sure. Hell, even some great material I put into my scripts. But for me, personally? Nothing substantial. Nothing with substance. Nothing that I can say to myself “Hey T. This girl is awesome. She gets you. Lets you be you. You say and do things to her you never did to any other woman. Shit, there’s feelings involved! You’re not a machine after all. Good job.” And I’ll take half the blame on this. The other half goes on the chicks not in what I now call “The T Substantial Dating Demographic”. This demographic is the target female type and age range I will now focus all my powers on. And believe me, I have some powers. Just ask all my female t-blawg groupies. Heeeyyyyy. Wait. Stop distracting me dammit!

The T Substantial Dating Demographic: (If you don’t fall into this demographic I will not get involved with you in any romantic or sexual way whatsoever! Not anymore. *Present women I met before this post are excluded. Well some of you are.)

Age: 25-35 (I can’t deal with the young insecure drama anymore. Even for just banging. Sorry. Or the older, scorned “My life and men suck so I’m bitter and will take it out on all men” type.)

Education: College Graduate + (This means you’re not stupid. I hate stupid.)

Income: $60-$100K (I have no problem taking care of a woman if she wants me to. But I need to know she can take care of herself first.)

Occupation: Sky’s the damn limit! (Anything but full-time student, model, actress, unemployed, bartender (part time is ok), waitress, stripper, socialite (what the fuck is that anyways?!))

Living Situation: Just You (You can rent or own. I don’t care. But you better live alone. Fuck your intruding parents. Fuck your never minding their own business roommates. Fuck your children supplement cats. One dog is cool. As long as it doesn’t fit in a purse or wear clothes. Or try to rape my leg or ass.)

Status: Completely Single! (That means…never been married. Too much baggage. Can’t have kids. I love kids. And I’m a great uncle. But if I ever have kids, they have to be my kids. And my kids will be hell spawn. Just so you know. But I’ll still love the little fuckers.)

Physical Appearance: Surprise Me (I am no longer going for the dark haired, pretty eye shit! Fuck that. You can look however you look. Within the 5 foot to 5 foot 9 range. 90-130lbs. Average/Athletic/Curvy build. Any ethnicity. Any hair color. Can be a 6 on a 1-10 scale. Preferably a 7-8. 9s and 10s have egos bigger than me. All set.)

Musts: Besides the above mentioned? Have a sense of humor and something to say. Honestly? These two things would probably bump out any of the above shit I mentioned. For reals. I make you laugh, then I’m happy from you laughing. Done!

Must nots: Smokes, sausage hands, greasy curly hair, assface chins, drug dependencies (street or prescription), muffin tops, doesn’t live in reality, delusional, loves drama, insecurity, doesn’t like movies, smells funny.

Our History: You don’t know me. Not from my past. Not from this blog. We’ve never worked together. We’ve never been friends. We didn’t go to school together. We don’t just facebook through t-blawg. We don’t just tweet through @tblawg. We didn’t meet once at a mutual friend’s party. You’re not in my pipeline. I’m not in yours. Nothing. It has to be fresh. It has to be new.

That’s “The T Substantial Dating Demographic”! As of this blog posting this is what I’ll be focusing on. Impossible? I don’t know. Maybe. Shouldn’t be. Doesn’t seem that hard on paper. And for all you people reading this and I’m sure will either comment, text, call, facebook, tweet or even carrier pigeon me “Well what do you have to offer the women in ‘The T Substantial Dating Demographic ‘ Mr. Perfect???” A lot actually. But I know I’m not perfect. Because I’m honest. And I’m funny. And ambitious. What else? Oh. I make a good living. Also very loyal. And….let’s just say the rest I have to offer is a whole lot of substance. Substantial substance.
What do you think? Am I nuts??? Am I asking for too much? Would love to hear some female feedback on this one. Easy on the hate mail please. Haha.

Until next time. Always take it there.

T

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My “Titletown” Post

You served me well my playoff beard

Let’s just start this t-blawg post like this. 10 years. 4 teams. 1 city. 7 championships.

That’s right. Boston is “Titletown” and nobody else can claim that. I can turn this post into one hell of a bragging rights session about Boston’s sports dominance because let’s face it. Nobody can talk Boston better than me. But I’m not going to do that. Not today anyways. Instead I am going to write about why the nickname “Titletown” is more than just about the championships and bragging rights for my city. I would like to direct you to the pic just above. Oh snap. Is that Milan Lucic?! No. It’s not. It’s me. Rocking my “#24 Terry O’Reilly” Bruins hat and my Bruins playoff beard. That’s right. A full length playoff beard and my favorite Bruins player as a kid. That’s how far back I go. That’s how loyal I am. That’s Boston. Pure, loyal, hard-working, fighting, earning every inch and every win, Boston. And the Boston Bruins recent Stanley Cup championship has shown that. Just like how I showed my loyalty every day during their playoff run by going months without shaving. To show my dedication to my team. To my city. The Boston Bruins were the last of the “No championship winning. Boston sports teams suck. Wait ‘til next year.” teams. We waited. We fought. We stayed loyal. All of us. And yes I use the term “we” when describing my teams. My city. Its people. My people. Why? Because that’s “Titletown”. That’s Boston.

As a little kid I wore my Easter basket on my head and took slap shots of foil puck balls off of my grandfather as he played goalie with his slipper. We were the Black and Gold. Not the Black and Yellow for all you come lately bandwagon pink hatters! My old Italian Papa and I were the Bruins and they never won The Cup when my grandfather and I had our time together before he passed away. This Stanley Cup win was for him. For me. For Boston. Just like the Pats did it for us. Just like the Sox did it for us. And the same as the Celtics. The teams represent the people. Our heart. Our class. Our love. Our loyalty. Our sports teams just give us the spotlight we need to shine every now and then. But it’s always there. Always was. Always will be. The 2010-2011 Boston Bruins were the last of the losers in other cities’ eyes. But never in the eyes of Boston. The Cup just made it official. We all knew we would win it. Eventually. It’s not optimism. It’s just how we are. We are confident enough to know we will win and never falter when the naysayers say we can’t. We won’t. Because Boston will win. Just like me. Just like everybody else with Boston blood in their veins.

History shows all the great battles that took place in Boston. All the wars fought. All the blood spilled. And I’m not talking about sports now. I’m talking about Paul Revere. The Revolutionary War. The Boston Massacre. This city has been fighting, kicking ass and winning way before it had any sports teams. It’s people are a part of history. Hell, even the Kennedys come from my old loyal & tough as nails neighborhood of Eastie! We’ve always fought here. Still do. We’ve always strived to be the best. We work at it. You see it. You hear it in “The Accent”. You see it in our ever-growing popular Oscar-winning Boston-based movies. And you now know it from the 10 years of complete and total sports dominance. Boston was always “Titletown”. Will always be “Titletown”. Whether our sports teams are putting trophies in cases or not. We know we’re “Titletown”. We know nobody else can make that claim. And now you all know it too. Boston….what?!

Until next time. Always take it there.

T

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My “Why The Hell Is This Expensive?!” Post

There's about $5000 worth of guacamole right there

We live in a world of expensive taste. Expensive things. I get it. I make a good living. I can afford nice things. But there are some things in this world that are way too expensive for no good reason whatsoever and it pisses me off! It’s not the money. It’s the principle! Some people have a lot of balls charging ridiculous prices for everyday things. And these things should not be expensive! You want to know what they are? Well I’ll tell you dammit. And I’ll also let the world know how much they should be and why.

Razors
I live in downtown Boston and I pay $18 for a 4 pack of razors. Are you shitting me??? Do I get a reach around from some CVS cashier in back for paying that much? I’m Italian so I should shave everyday. But I like a day’s stubble on my face so I go every other day. But if I shaved everyday like I’m supposed to according to corporate America guidelines, that means I’ll go through a razor a week. That’s $216 a year on stupid razors! A pack of razors should be $6 tops.

Gym Memberships
Downtown Boston gyms are ridiculous. A lot of people just pay to either not go and say they belong to a certain gym or go like once a month to say they workout. And monthly rates vary from $80-$300 a month. That is nuts. I grew up in a neighborhood where I paid $19 a month. It had rusty weights and treadmills with shards of metal sticking out that could kill you. That’s all I needed though. I don’t need a pretty gym. Just give me the basics. Unfortunately, I don’t have a basic cheap gym option in downtown Boston. But I have a way with words and negotiated a set $69 a month for a high-end gym. But no way should any gym membership be more than $30 a month. No way.

Christmas Trees
I’ve never been big on getting a Christmas tree while living on my own. Never saw the point. I mean Santa hates my guts. I don’t have kids. I’m not in a serious relationship. Why the hell would I get one?! But I’m also anti-fake trees. They look stupid. If you’re going to get one, might as well be the real thing. I’ve gotten one like 3 times in my life. And I hate paying what they ask. And I see what people with kids are willing to pay for these future fire hazards. Like around $60-$150. Really?! The thing will be dead in like 2 days and all you really get from them are fucking pine needles in your car trunk and all over your house for years later. Why pay that much? They all should be $15 max. Or pull a Clark W. Griswold and go steal a tree by ripping it out of the ground. Preferably from your asshole neighbor’s yard.

Mixed drinks
I drink Jack Daniels & Ginger Ale. It’s My Signature Drink! When I go out in Boston, it costs me an average of $10 per Jack & Ginger. Now I did the math. I can buy a 750ml bottle of Jack at the liquor store for $18. A bottle of ginger ale is $2. That’s $20. And I can get a solid 13 buzz worthy drinks out of that. For $20. That would cost me $130 at the bar for that shit, tip not included! And the bar/lounge/club gets that shit from a distributor even cheaper than what we pay at the liquor store! The bar spends around $12. That’s $118 profit per bottle. WTF?! That is ridiculous. A mixed drink in any city should not be more than $5.50 per drink. Period. Make this law!

Cologne
Really?! I like to smell nice. I do. So I have no choice. And it’s Bro Code. But they come in like dixie cup sizes that last like a week! $42 for like a 7 spray bottle?! $70 for like a 12 spray bottle?! Go fuck yourself Ralph Lauren! Somebody invent some good smelling cologne that comes in a jug for around $18 that lasts 5 years! Call it Man Shit cologne. Thank me later.

Cable
I pay $173.19 a month for my HD cable with DVR/HBO and wireless internet. No need for a home phone. I hardly watch TV live except for sports. But I need this package. The cable people are criminals with licenses to legally operate. It’s bullshit. They try to ass rape you every time their service or equipment stops working too! It’s their fault, yet we have to pay. My combo package should be no more than $37 a month. If I was still a young asshole, I would be stealing cable like my father did when I was a kid. He was right about that. Probably the only thing he was ever right about.

Dry Cleaning
I only wash my gym clothes, socks, boxers, t-shirts and towels. The rest of my stuff I send out to the dry cleaner. Been this way since I was like 14 years old because as much as I love my mother, she couldn’t wash clothes for shit. My stuff would turn colors and shrink every damn time. I looked like a Hawaiian hippie wearing baby clothes. But as a grown man who wears suits to work and likes to have nice clothes, I rack up one hell of a dry cleaning bill weekly. Why the hell does it cost around $16 to dry clean a suit? It’s just a pair of pants and a jacket. $3 for a button up shirt with a little starch?! $7 for a pair of pants?! My dry cleaning can max out at almost $100 a month. I should be paying $35 max. I should look into buying some dry cleaning equipment for my house. Start a home business. Hmmm.

Milk
I pay an average of $5.19 for a gallon of milk. I drink a gallon a week. Been drinking skim for about 15 years. Shouldn’t skim milk be less than whole, 2% and 1%?! I think so! But it’s not. That’s some bullshit. Milk is still from a cow right? I mean is the planet running out of friggin’ cows or something? They’re cows. Not snow leopards. Milk should not be more than $3.25 a gallon.

Movie tickets
I’m a movie guy. I go for pleasure. For my business. I see every movie. EVERY movie. So I go every week. It’s $11 a ticket. $13 if I see a shitty 3-D movie. If I take a date and get her some popcorn and a drink? You’re talking like a million dollars a year for me! No exaggeration. Come on Hollywood! You’ve been putting out shit for years. Drop your ticket prices. A movie ticket should be $4 tops. And if the movie sucks, I should get half back right?

Chipotle guacamole
Oh you fuckers. Hey I like guacamole on my damn burrito. Wow. That sounded dirty. What I don’t like is having to pay an extra $1.95 to get it on my burrito at Chipotle! What the fuck are they thinking?! It’s guacamole! Not oil. Not gold. Guacamole. Assholes. This shit should be free of charge just like all the other options I have for my burrito. Smarten the fuck up Chipotle!

So those were my gripes on everyday things that are way too expensive for no reason whatsoever. I gave my suggestions for what they should really cost. Can we get somebody on this? Thanks.

What do think? Agree or disagree??? Anything rub your ass the wrong way that you would like to vent about and suggest a cost that you think is proper? Let me know here on t-blawg or on Facebook or on Twitter!

Until next time. Always take it there.
T

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My “T-isms-Things Only T Says” Post

This whole damn blog is a t-ism! Keep stealing from it and...I won't sue. I will cut you.

Some people say I have a way with words. And I’m not just talking about my writing. I’m talking about my talking. My passion. My habits. My originality! I’m Italian. I love to talk. I’m from Boston. I have an opinion. And I say things a certain way. You remember this post? But I also have sayings. Things I say all the time. If you hang out with me for a night you would hear a lot of things you’ve never heard before come out of my mouth. Mostly original. Some familiar but with a T twist to them. Here are some of my long running and popular sayings. Which I dubbed “T-isms”.

I will cut you.-One of my favorites. Not used as often these days.
When somebody pisses me off I often find myself saying this to the person. Or to my buddies who have to calm me down. Because when I start talking about cutting somebody, somebody just might get cut. And I don’t even have a knife on me! That’s the funny part. It’s a representation really. Of what I might do. Because my closest people know I’m capable of almost anything! So at this point in the night, if somebody is pissing me off and I’m talking about cutting somebody, STOP GIVING ME SHOTS!!!

I said/wrote that. Steal it and I’ll sue.-Used way too often!
The things I say. The things I write. I talk. I text. I tweet. I facebook update. All original T copyrighted material. And SOOO many people rip off my shit without giving me credit. All the damn time. I constantly hear people using my jokes. Telling my stories as if they are their own. Saying my sayings. Using my facebook updates as their fucking own! I don’t mind people using my material. But quote the original source fucker! And that’s T!!! So sometimes I have to write or say “I said/wrote that. Steal it and I’ll sue.” after I put something out there just to let people know. Fucking crooks.

Slampig.-I avoid them now. But they’re still out there! Lurking.
I did not create this. I don’t know who did. Or when. All I know is, this word has been around East Boston for generations. Since it was Noddles Island I think. It describes a dirty chick who banged a bunch of dudes but is still hot looking and easily bangable. She’s a slampig. Used it all the time as a kid and teenager. Everybody from Eastie did. As an adult. With an education. With a good career. With a business. With nice things. I still use it. I brought it into my adult awesome Boston biz life vernacular. And I introduced it to a new group of friends and biz contacts. A new audience. A new world. And I’m damn proud of it.

My spots.-Almost every time I talk about some place I’ve been to more than once.
I frequent many bars, clubs, lounges, restaurants, gyms, movie theaters, businesses….whatever. Wherever I go, often, that place is my spot. I call it my spot. It’s my spot. Not your spot. My spot. Get your own damn spots. Just not my spots. Ok? Good. And once you have a spot of your own, don’t call it your damn spot either. Call it your joint. Or your place. Or your stripe. I don’t give a fuck what you call it! Just don’t use “my spot”. I will cut you.

Stop it.-Too often! Too many people talking about nonsense.
In the middle of a conversation if I start to realize you are making no sense or you are a complete fucking idiot, I will calmly close my eyes, wave my hand and say “Stop it.” And that’s it. Nothing else. Conversation over. Stop talking now.

Eye fucking the shit out of me.-Every time I’m drinking. Doesn’t matter. Every time.
Yes this is from the great comedy classic “Wedding Crashers”. But ever since this great quotable movie came out in 2005, I have embraced this one quote in particular. So much so that 99 out of 100 times when I’m out drinking with my boys you will hear it come out of my mouth even if a chick looked at me for a millisecond. Yep. I don’t care. If you’re a hot chick and you look my way then you are absolutely eye fucking the shit out of me. Seriously. I don’t care if Brad Pitt is standing next to me. I don’t care if your favorite shitty episode of Sex and the City is on the tv behind me. You look, then you’re eye fucking me! Period. For some reason though, fewer girls eye fuck the shit out of me when I’m sober. Weird.

Pun intended.-Mostly when I’m doing anything t-blawg related.
I pride myself on puns. On one liners. On sexual innuendo. On making people laugh. Whether you’re laughing at me or with me, if I like you, then that makes me happy. Sometimes I have to reiterate myself by saying pun intended. It’s the opposite of those people who always feel compelled to say “no pun intended”. That shit is weird! And stupid. All my puns are intended. As they should be.

“This” (Ex. “This chick was like….” “This dude right here….”. “This asshole said…” “This ‘anything really’”)-Ever since I was able to tell a story. Since I was 2 years-old I guess?!
When I’m telling a story to someone I always use “this” a lot to help. It adds to the effect. Between my energy, the accent and crazy Italian arms flailing like a maniac, it makes for a great show. For example, this is a story you might hear me tell. “I was out the other night with this chick right? I mean this chick was hot. And interesting. For a change right? We were having a good time until this douchebag bartender spills a drink across the bar onto her dress. This girl goes fucking nuts! She starts talking  about how this dress she was wearing cost her like $500. So I say ‘This shit didn’t cost you no $500! Stop it.’” Night over.

Trimming The Fat.-I still trim. But not as much. Thankfully.
I coined this last year when I cleaned out my life. I got rid of every negative person. Every pain in the ass drama causing chick. Cut off every friend and family member who did not contribute to my life in any way when times were tough. I trimmed the fat. And I now say that every time I want to get something or someone out of my life that is not on the T bandwagon. That’s what that is all about baby!

;) -At least every fifth text! Every single text to a hot chick. Fo’ reals.
I don’t do LOL. I don’t do I heart you. I don’t do I miss your face. I’m a man. A straight man. I do this ;) . That’s what T says and texts you. That’s how I’m nice. How I flirt. This ;) is my thing. That’s what you get from T.

I Put the F-U in FUN.-I put it in. Wait…what?
Come onnnnn! Who else would say something like this but me?! Doesn’t sound right if anyone else says it.

Holla!!!-Probably like 6-7 times a week. That’s a good guestimate.
When I’m in a good mood, I’ll yell out “Holla!!!”. I’ll even write “Holla!!!” at the end of a great text. Or a positive facebook update. Or a tweet. I don’t know why. I just do. Been doing it for years. It means I’m in a good mood. Don’t fuck with my good mood. Holla!!!

Nicknames. I give everybody nicknames.-I find myself giving people nicknames out loud. And in my head. It’s scary.
Growing up everybody had a nickname. Sometimes they made sense. Sometimes they didn’t. Sometimes you liked them. Sometimes you didn’t. As a grown man in his 30s, I still give everybody a nickname. Friends, chicks, co-workers, strangers, biz contacts….it doesn’t matter. I give people nicknames. I don’t care if you don’t like it. I will call you that nickname whenever the hell I want. And the more you fight your nickname of “Assholeface”, the more I am going to call you “Assholeface”! Out in public. Around hot chicks. At the gym. During a conference call. At Christmas dinner in front of your grandmother. Ok Assholeface?!

So there you have some of my long running sayings. T-isms. Those who know me well, know all of these T-isms. Those who don’t, hang out with me sometime. We’ll go to one of my spots. You’ll get to know them all pretty well too. Then I’ll give you a nickname. If you don’t like it? Stop it. Pun intended. This slampig right here is eye fucking the shit out of me. Holla!!! ;)

Do you have isms??? What do you say or do that nobody else does? That is entertaining? That are constantly taken from your own awesomeness?! Share here. Or on The Twitter. Or on The Facebook.

Until next time. Always take it there.

T

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My “T Does Atlanta in 3 Paragraphs” Post

Patrón-We have a love/hate relationship

*I’ve decided to do a series of blog posts that capture my travels throughout my life. In 3 paragraphs. I’ll post them every once in a while. Some places I’ve been to a few times, others only once. And some I will probably never go back to because of what went down there.

I’ve been to Atlanta twice in my life. Both times were for a job training. I was stuck in a hotel with a group of 30 strangers from around the country with no means of transportation. So that meant we all had to hang out with each other and do things close to the hotel. I didn’t like that idea. I hate being secluded and I also hate being told what to do. But that was the itinerary given to us by the company we signed on to work for. It was the same month of June. I went down the first week and last week of the month and it was hot as balls. My knowledge of Hotlanta was that everything was owned by Ted fucking Turner and southern rappers at the time kind of sucked. That’s it. And being stuck in the hotel and its 2 mile radius did not broaden my ATL experience in any way that I had hoped. But being T, I adapted. I always find the fun. And when I can’t, I make it. Or destroy everything in sight while trying. It’s my motto.

There was a cute little young thang that worked the hotel front desk. She was the stereotypical southern gal. Blonde, sun dress, pearls, perky and had that southern drawl that made her sound almost retarded. But in a hot way. My accent and attitude combined with my in yo’ face, flirty yet insulting, city charisma charmed the shit out of her. We walked around the area at night and for the first time in my life I saw fireflies! Which I can only scientifically describe as an invisible drunk ghost trying to light his lighter! That shit was awesome. So, after some chicken fried steak and sweet tea (which is friggin’ delicious) I entrusted her to show me and my group of 30 weird ass strangers a good time. The closest thing to a good time in her big, southern blue-eyed slow brain was this giant barn like nightclub called “Big Roy’s Pig & Shit Barn” or something like that and it had…I kid you not…roller derby going on before it turned into a nightclub. Yeah. Roller fucking derby. Giant, butch females beating the shit out of each other on roller skates. I had never seen such a thing! And as you know from this blog, I done seen a lot in my time. Once they wiped the blood away the DJ came out and hundreds of people packed this place. Drinks were very cheap in Atlanta. And this is where I first had….Patrón.

Mixed drinks are about $10-13 in Boston. A shot of Patrón is about $11. In ATL a mixed drink was $3 and Patrón shots were $4. Now this was 2006. Patrón was only seen in like Lil’ Jon blinged out grails. In rap videos. We didn’t have Patrón in Boston at the time. It didn’t make it’s way up until about 6-8 months later. I really wasn’t a tequila fan at the time but I wanted to try it. My lady friend, my temporary former gang banger roommate from B-More and about half of the mentally challenged crew had already had it before. They were southern. I was Bostonian. We lined up the shots. And that was where my love affair for Patrón began. It went down easier than my southern hotel front desk girl. ZING! Nine shots later I was snapping my fingers to Lil’ Jon and dancing like an idiot on a blood stained roller derby rink yelling out “YEAH!” “WHAT?!” “OKAAAAY!” That was Atlanta for me. I came back to Boston and waited for the day that Patrón finally arrived. Atlanta is ok. It wasn’t the experience I wanted. I need to try it again. But it gave me Patrón and fireflies. For that I’ll always be grateful to the ATL. But I love Boston the best.

What do you think? Does this sound like Atlanta??? Should I go back?! What did I miss out on? Talk to me people!!! Hit me up here on t-blawg itself or on Twitter or on the Facebook page!

Until next time. Always take it there.

T