post

My “It’s not you, it’s me” Post

November 21, 2011 By Leave a Comment

I'm definitely starting to believe I'm more interesting than this guy

After the crazy 2010 that I had, I promised myself a lot of things in 2011. I promised myself to do a lot of things differently. One of those things was to start dating higher quality women. Women that were more in line with what I wanted. What I needed. No young drama. No slampigs. No crazies. No women already in serious relationships with other guys. No women who were a pain in my ass basically. I no longer wanted to hang out with, hook up with, have sex with or date women where at some point I found myself dropping on them the dreaded “It’s not you, it’s me.” Nobody wants to get the “It’s not you, it’s me!” Nobody. And I gave it out a lot in my time. Because it is the “Get out of whatever this is as easy as possible” dating clause. And we all have used it. Don’t lie. Sure it’s pretty much the chicken shit way of saying “You’re not good enough for me. You’re not what I thought you were. You are kind of weird. I found someone better. The sex sucked. You look stupid naked. You bore the shit out of me. I suddenly just found you annoying. I don’t want anything to do with you as of this moment.” without having to actually say it like that. That’s the “It’s not you, it’s me” in a nutshell. Or so I thought.

So it was all fine and dandy giving it out to women until this past Summer when some chick I was hanging out with dropped that shit on me. I have gone my entire dating life without a woman saying “It’s not you, it’s me” to me. Seriously. I have been told “You’re an asshole.” “I found someone else.” “You’re too busy for me.” “I’m going back to/staying with my boyfriend/husband.” “You’re too crazy for me.” “You have more issues than Time magazine.” “I am a lesbian now.” plenty of times. But never the “It’s not you, it’s me!” And it sucked. Of course I immediately wanted to pull a George Costanza and say “You don’t give me ‘It’s not you, it’s me!’ I give you ‘It’s not you, it’s me!’ I invented the ‘It’s not you, it’s me!’” But I didn’t. She was a nice enough girl. And the new 2011 T told the little devil Ts on his shoulders (Yes. Two devils. Never had the tiny angel on one of them.) to just take it like a man. I went outside of my comfort zone with this woman the entire time we were together. She wasn’t my type at all. She had some issues. A lot of issues actually. And a past that made my past look like a fucking church choir. But I let it go while I was with her because I wanted to give this thing between us a shot. A real, adult, quality shot. But she didn’t. She wanted to end it and she wanted to do it as easy as possible for the both of us. She wanted to “It’s not you, it’s me” me. And she actually did us both a favor.

It took about a week and few conversations with the boys and my Chick Bullpen to realize that if she didn’t do the “It’s not you, it’s me” to me, I would’ve did it to her. It just wasn’t meant to be and honestly, we both didn’t know why. It just didn’t fit. For her. Or for me. And it really wasn’t the chicken shit way of ending things. It’s not always a lie. Sometimes it really is you. And not them. Sometimes it’s both of you. Why stay in something if you’re not feeling it? You can still like someone. Find them attractive. Have fun with them. But just feel like you don’t fit with them. Sometimes there isn’t an exact reason. And if you said “I can’t explain it. Everything is going ok. I like you. But I don’t want to be with you and I can’t say why exactly because I honestly don’t know why.” instead of “It’s not you, it’s me” it would drag things out. You would want more because you would think there should be a reason. It would bring out feelings of doubt, anger, suspicion, self loathing, hate. It wouldn’t just end. The band aid would slowly pull on the tiny hairs for a long time with that. Calls. Texts. All that shit because you would want answers. You would want closure. On your terms. Not theirs. And that sucks even more than “It’s not you, it’s me.” I know that now. Because honestly people, sometimes it really is just “It’s not you, it’s me.” Leave it that. Move on. And get back in the game and hope to find someone who gets it the way you get it.

Ever give or get “It’s not you, it’s me?” Do you agree with my definition of it or do you still feel it’s an easy out? I really want to know! Let me know on Facebook or Twitter. Thanks.

Until next time. Always take it there.

T

Filed Under: Bro Code, Dating, Edgy, Entertainment, Life, Opinionated, Sex, t-blawg, Uncategorized, Women Tagged With: , , , , , , ,
post

My “At First Glance Physical Female Pet Peeves” Post

October 17, 2011 By 8 Comments

Maybe it's the tight pants on her bro??? Nah.

We all know that the physical gets our attention when meeting strangers right? The personality comes later and then if that’s great the person becomes more attractive in our eyes. That’s just the way it goes. Don’t lie. Nobody sees somebody from across the room and wants to talk to them hoping they have a great personality. You hope for that after the fact. The connection after the first glance. But the first thing you see is a smile. You see hair. You see boobs. You see ass. You see height. You see muscles. You see skin tone. Well there are some things that if they are the first things I notice about a strange woman I will instantly not talk to that woman. I will not approach that woman. I will not smile back. I will not drink with her. They are shallow but they are truth! These things are the “at first glance physical female pet peeves”. And in my eyes I just can’t overlook them. I’m willing to look past Megan Fox’s toe thumbs. Or Mila Kunis’ different colored eyes. Those are kind of hot actually. But some things I can’t. Sorry I’m not sorry. Here they are.

Ass Face Chins
Men have ass face chins. Not chicks. It’s the indent in the middle of the chin that is so severe it looks like there is an ass on the bottom of your face. Women should not have these. They are scary. A little dent is ok. A Ben Affleck ass face chin is not. If I see your Ben Affleck ass face chin turn towards me at the bar, I will also turn at the bar and run away.

Adam’s Apple
If you are a chick with a giant bulging Adam’s Apple, I don’t care how hot you are, I will think you have a dick. I wouldn’t stand there and talk to you because I would freak you out by staring at that thing wondering if you tape your tucked schlong like that dude from Silence of the Lambs. “Put the lotion in the basket!!!”

Sausage Fingers
Some chicks struggle with underarm fat. It’s ok. You can work on that. But sausage fingers?! No way! Stay away from me. I know there isn’t a way to fix the problem, but I don’t care. Not my problem. Your knobby baby sausage fingers wrapped around a skinny martini glass stem are fucking creepy! I don’t want them near me. Stay the hell away.

Cankles
It’s not a calf. It’s not an ankle. It’s a cankle. Your leg just goes into your foot and it looks weird. It’s disturbing. Seeing that at the bottom of an attractive woman’s dress going into some sexy high heels is just heartbreaking. Devastating. Even with pants on if I already know a chick has them, I’m all set. They’re scary to guys like circus clowns are to women.

Muffin Top
Little love handles are kind of sexy. Something to hold onto. I like looking at a chick’s back especially if she has those lower back dimples and seeing slight love handles to grab onto. So hot. But a full fledged muffin top that falls over the top of your pants that I can see through your tight ass shirt?! Fucking gross! Go run. And do crunches. Don’t come back until that shit is shaped and maintained. Don’t need a six pack. But damn woman!

Extra Hair: Hairy Spine/Sideburns/Mustache/Hairy guy arms
Some women have extra hair in places. When I was 14 a hot chick in high school had a dress on that she unzipped in class for some reason. I saw a long hairy spine that went from the back of her neck down into her pants. WTF?! That bothered me severely. Ruined me for life. Thick dude sideburns? I don’t want to see them or touch them. Mustache? If you’re too lazy to get that maintained then that says a lot about the type of woman you are. I’m all set. Hairy arms? Hey I got them. But I’m an Italian man. I’m supposed to. You need to find a solution. All these hairy scenarios should be taken care of before we ever meet out in public. If you come up to me looking like Sonic the fucking Hedgehog I’m going to tell you to go catch some golden rings somewhere or some shit. Just saying.

Greasy Curly Hair
I like long thick flowing hair on a woman. That tight wet greasy drippy curly hair look that some women do makes you look like a sewer rat. It’s gross. And I don’t like it! Go dry and straighten that shit out before going to the club. Please. Brillo head.

Crazy Teeth
If your mouth looks like you chewed on a bag of rocks for 18 straight hours, I don’t want to look at you. I don’t want to know you. Stop smiling at me from the dance floor! You’re startling me. You should’ve gotten braces as a kid. And yeah you’ll look like a damn fool with braces as a grown woman. But who’s fault is that? Maybe yours. Maybe your parents. Maybe your shitty insurance provider. But definitely not mine. I know a good dentist. Go get some posts and crowns for the next guy. You’re already tarnished for me though. With your crazy ass teeth looking all crazy.

Smokes
I don’t care how hot you are. How awesome you are. If the first thing I see is you smoking I can’t have anything to do with you. The smell. The taste. Nasty. Doesn’t matter if you only smoke when you drink. Or when you’re stressed. I don’t care. I lost a lot of people in my life to cancer. I’m not liking some chick who is going to croak from it eventually too. Nip that shit in the butt by not getting involved with you to begin with. No apologies from me. You smoke? Beat it. Go play in the canoe you got from collecting all those Marlboro Miles with some douchebag who smokes too. Then die together in a forest fire. You should’ve listened to Smokey the Bear stupid.

Those are my “at first glance physical female pet peeves”! Yeah they’re not nice. But they’re truth. And that’s how I roll. You know you do the same thing. Don’t lie.

Do you have any “at a glance physical pet peeves”? Would love to hear them! From both my male and female readers. Be honest. Share them here or on Facebook, Twitter or Buzzfeed.

Until next time. Always take it there.

T

Filed Under: Comedy, Dating, Edgy, Entertainment, Facebook, Opinionated, Sex, t-blawg, Twitter, Uncategorized, Women Tagged With: , , , , , , , , , , , ,
post

My “Bro Food Code” Post

October 10, 2011 By 8 Comments

Respect the fucking nachos, bro

The Bro Code saga continues! I’ve been applying my T Bro Code rules to every aspect in a guy’s life. I’m proud of what I’ve been doing with the Bro Code here on t-blawg so far. Hell, many so-called “Men’s” sites have been ripping off my Bro Code posts. And other posts too. Hacks. But I’ll continue the good fight! So here we are with the latest chapter. This one is one of the most important Bro Codes. It is something all Bros love. Almost as much as women. Almost as much as sex. Almost as much as sports. Almost as much as money. Almost as….it’s about food! Ok?! It’s the Bro Food Code! You read the title! Guys love food. It’s what makes us men. Well our penises do too. But our love for food really does too. But there are rules to food. Yep. There is. Are you ready for them?  Here we go!
Food at sports games
Simple. Every other booze run must include a food run.

Late night after clubs with chicks
The bro who pulled the hot chick is obligated to pay for the late night meal. No hot chicks pulled? Just the guys? Then you all eat like the world is ending. Split the bill. Go home to bed. It was a busted night.

Wings Rule 1
The hotter the broer!

Two Bros, One Dinner
Totally ok. Boys can dine together for steaks but never dessert! NEVER DESSERT!!!

The two rule is always applicable
Two of everything: 2 hot dogs each; 2 burgers each; 2 pizzas each; 2 chicks each. ZING! And you have to finish it all!

Pizza law
Last slice is given to the bro who paid. If the bill is going to be split, first bro to grab it gets it!

The nacho system
Fuck that old “Dude. It’s one chip!” shit when you grab a bunch stuck together! A real man starts from the outside of the nacho plate and works his way into the center! Remember, only a douche grabs the mother chip in the middle first!

Wings Rule 2
Eat them all but never throw bones back into the fresh wing pile dude. Use the accompanying bone bowl you dick.

The food question
If asked by anyone, ever, “You hungry?” Your response must always be “I can eat.” Even if you just ate. Real men can eat for days dude.

The chick factor
If your girl can’t finish her food, you finish for her. If you can’t? You’re not a man. Return your penis to Jesus.

Home court advantage
He’s who house it is, is the only man allowed to touch the grill. Respect.

Food table party guy
Don’t be him! Never be that guy standing near the food table all night at the party. Go in once. Hard and fast. And you’re done. That’s what she said.

Wings Rule 3
10 cent wings & 2 dollar drafts??? The poorest bro and the richest bro at the bar can all enjoy!

Formal events
After all tables are called by number you can go up as many times as you want. Get your money’s worth! Get in my belly!!!

Holiday house pit stops
You are obligated to eat at every person’s house you go to. Except the dirty cousin’s house. We all hate eating at the dirty cousin’s house.

Awkward Bro Scorpion Bowl
Two bros shouldn’t share a scorpion bowl. But sometimes it happens. I know. Get two straws and as long as both bros don’t sip at the same time, it’s ok. Just don’t tweet about it.

Don’t count the bill guy!
You know when you ordered how much your shit will cost. All bros look at the price. You know how much your date’s shit cost too. And how many drinks you had. And how much dessert was. When the bill comes at the end of a fun group date night dinner, add it all up in your head and throw in 25% extra. Done. Don’t be that guy.

Wings Rule 4
If you’re the dude who brings the chick then you must order enough for her as well and pay for her portion of wings. Every time. No exceptions!

The Bro who is always short on the bill
You can and will call his ass out on the spot! Fuck him! He is no bro at all.

The Date 6 Rule
If you’ve been dating a chick and you reach the 6th date and if she doesn’t even attempt to reach for the bill, dump her. Dump her fast. She is a selfish, heartless succubus and this is the first sign of a life of misery with her. If she reaches for the bill, you still pay. But be happy. Because you got a keeper man!

Food shopping
It’s simple guy. Always have the bro essentials: milk, eggs, bread, peanut butter, at least 2 cereals, steak, chicken, cold cuts and of course toilet paper. Everything else is whatever.

And that is the “Bro Food Code” in a nutshell. Now you know. I don’t want to see any bros fucking up food from this point on! Ok?! Like all of T’s Bro Code chapters, print this. Keep it with you. At all times! Thank me later.
How are you liking my Bro Code posts? Let me know! I like writing them. Comment. Tweet me. Facebook me. Buzzfeed me. And definitely let me know if you’re seeing any of my posts anywhere else on the interwebs people!!!

Until next time. Always take it there.


T

Filed Under: Alcohol, Bro Code, Comedy, Different, Edgy, Entertainment, Facebook, Food, Funny, Money, Opinionated, Sports, t-blawg, Twitter, Uncategorized, Women Tagged With: , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
post

My “Office Sex. Don’t Do It!” Post

October 3, 2011 By Leave a Comment

This is how it starts. Like a damn porno. I'm telling you!

Ah office sex. Some say it’s taboo. Some say it’s wrong. Some say it’s dangerous. Some say it’s stupid. And you know what? They’re right. Because I know. Because I’ve done it all when it comes to office sex. It’s cool to become friends with people you work with. Hell after college, work and friends of friends are the only ways you can mostly make new friends. But banging them?! NO! How am I an expert? Am I just talking shit? How do I know? Well I’ll tell you some stories that gave me this profound knowledge. I did all the wrong things that led to these conclusions! I was stupid. I was young. I liked danger. But mostly, I was horny. Learn from T here people. Please. I’ll save you the trouble. I’ll save you the embarrassment. I’ll save you the frustration. I’ll save you from losing your job. I’ll save you from heartbreak. Yes, heartbreak. Because all those things happened to me. I’ll break it down for you. Learn from my office sex experiences people. Office sex? Don’t do it. These experiences cover the whole messy office sex spectrum.

My first office sex experience happened when I was in my early 20s. It was with an older chick in another department. She was cool. She was cute. She had an amazing apple ass. And she was married. We flirted a lot. One night we hooked up after the office holiday party. After that she started to talk about leaving her husband and wanting a relationship with me. I thought that was crazy as fuck and told her so. It didn’t go over too well. But she got the point. I did too. No issues really after that between us because I avoided the shit out of her and it put me on the straight and narrow at work for the next few years. Then I hit the wall. Big time. I left that company and ended up working with these 2 chicks. They were friends. Good friends. We all became friends. One was in a serious relationship but looking to get out. I became her “emotional work boyfriend”. Yeah I know. Stupid. That work boyfriend title is a fucking joke. No man deserves that. I actually fell for this chick. Then she broke my heart and the asshole in me came out so I started to hook up with the other chick out of spite. Just straight sex shit. She ended up having a boyfriend while this was going on too. She was also a weed/ecstasy/cokehead. I didn’t touch the shit but she did. Too much. Between the 2 of them, tons of lies and the shadiness that took over both my professional and personal lives, I was a mess. Both chicks then became bat shit crazy. It spilled into the office. I almost killed one of the managers. And in the end, I left the company and both chicks kept their jobs but still ended up hating me. See? Office sex usually starts off fun, but there will always be casualties. Always.

Two years later I ended up working with a chick at another place. So not my type. But she threw herself at me every single day. Every single day! So I finally gave in. I banged her in my office “Basic Instinct” style. She was a total slampig. Then I started to hook up with a chick that worked for her. She was a young Brazilian hottie yoga enthusiast. So hot. I actually liked her. Our hooking up led to dating. Which was rare for me. We kept it out of the office. This went on for a couple of months. Her boss the dirty slampig was suspicious. But we didn’t care. Then it turned out my hottie was in the country illegally. The Feds came and deported her ass. WTF?! Random right? Only me. I think the slampig boss blew the whistle. I can’t prove it but the psycho most likely did. After my hottie got shipped back to Brazil, I quit that place and went to another company. At this new place was a hottie intern. I stayed on the straight and narrow for about the first 2 months. Then her internship ended and we banged like jackrabbits as soon as she punched out at 5:00PM on her last day. She was young. In college. And kept those odd college chick hours that they keep. I was a grown ass man with things to do. So, she got on my nerves after 2 weeks. This was it for me. I was done. She was my last office sex hookup. I retired from office sex. I went out with a bang. Literally. They raised my jersey to the rafters. My office sex wild oats were sewn. That was over 3 years ago. Enough of this shit.

See what I’m saying? This was not a bragging post. This was a I was stupid so you don’t have to be post. What did we learn about office sex? Don’t do it! But if you must do it you horny stupid son of a bitch bastard, make sure it’s:

not with somebody in your department;

not with somebody in a relationship using you as a way out;

not with a crazy ass career killing sex fiend psycho;

not with somebody who calls you their “work boyfriend/girlfriend”;

not with a way younger college intern who annoys the shit out of you constantly;

not with somebody who oversees your responsibilities like a manager who can get your ass deported;

and definitely not with somebody whose responsibilities you oversee and can go all HR on your stupid ass.

But I’m telling you. Don’t shit where you eat! Don’t dip your pen in the company ink! Don’t make your vagina a corporate mouse pad! Wait, what? Anyways. Nothing good comes from office sex. Unless of course you do it right. Which you really can’t ok? And now you know. And knowing is half the battle…wait did I just quote GI Joe???

What do you think? Have any office sex stories? Are you in the middle of an office sex story? Did your office sex story have a happy ending? ZING! Holla at me! Get the tweeting, facebooking and buzzfeeding!

Until next time. Always take it there.

T

Filed Under: Alcohol, Awesomeness, Bro Code, Business, Dating, Different, Edgy, Entertainment, Facebook, Money, Opinionated, Sex, t-blawg, Uncategorized, Women, Work Tagged With: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
post

My “If I Was Married” Post

September 26, 2011 By 7 Comments

I hope a shark ate them both

So many married people say to me “You know what I would do if I was single?” Then proceed to give me what they think is advice. Or their poor attempt at humor. With a tone that makes me want to punch them in their throats. It’s so annoying. So condescending. So sarcastic. Making insane statements about how they would be so awesome if they were single. More awesome than any other single person out there. Like all us single people are doing it wrong. Fucking sons of bitch bastards. I don’t judge you so why do you judge me? You can’t tell someone how to live their life. Now, most of my close married friends are very respectful. But every now and then I come across a douchebag married couple that gives me shit. So. Here’s my advice back. Here’s my shit back. And you all know T can give it back when he wants to. Here’s my “You know what I would do if I was married?” post. You’ve been warned.

You know what I would do if I was married?
I would be having sex with my wife and my wife only.

You know what I would do if I was married?
I would be spending time with my kids instead of having them raised by their grandparents.

You know what I would do if I was married?
I wouldn’t be on Twitter or Facebook pretending to be single to meet girls.

You know what I would do if I was married?
I wouldn’t be hanging out with my ex.

You know what I would do if I was married?
I wouldn’t be working for somebody else making them rich while I live paycheck to paycheck.

You know what I would do if I was married?
I wouldn’t be in debt out my ass relying on help from my in-laws.

You know what I would do if I was married?
I wouldn’t be a fat fuck who eats like shit and doesn’t work out.

You know what I would do if I was married?
I would be able to satisfy my wife.

You know what I would do if I was married?
I wouldn’t be bitching to anyone who would listen about how my life sucks.

You know what I would do if I was married?
I wouldn’t go to Disney once a year just for the sake of telling people we go to Disney once a year.

You know what I would do if I was married?
I wouldn’t inundate my friends with pics of houses, cars, kids, vacations etc. constantly to try to one-up them in life.

You know what I would do if I was married?
I would never say that high school or college were the best years of my life.

You know what I would do if I was married?
I wouldn’t rely on my single buddy to set up every night out to make sure I have a good time.

You know what I would do if I was married?
I would never struggle to remove my ring in my left pocket when meeting a beautiful woman.

You know what I would do if I was married?
I would never pay to bang whores at a whore house and say “Every married guy does it.”

You know what I would do if I was married?
I would never put my hands on my wife or kids.

You know what I would do if I was married?
I would never tell my kids that they couldn’t be anything they wanted to be in life.

You know what I would do if I was married?
I would never expect my wife to say or do anything for me that I wasn’t already saying and doing for her.

You know what I would do if I was married?
I would never have to buy a big ass car or boat or jump out an airplane to prove that I am still a real man.

You know what I would do if I was married?
I would still have my own identity and not become “Oh. He’s married now that’s why.” guy.

You know what I would do if I was married?
I wouldn’t put my kids in every sport, school and activity just to one-up other people’s kids because for fuck sake they’re kids!

You know what I would do if I was married?
Most importantly. I wouldn’t talk down to my single friends about how they live their lives because I would remember that they are my friends and would know the difference between giving honest, heart felt advice and being a douchebag.

Now how was that all you condescending married dicks??? That’s some messed up cake right?! Pretty harsh. Well. Now you know how it feels. All you awesome, non-judging married couples out there? Keep it up! You rule! The rest? Smarten the fuck up. Thank you.

One of my harshest posts or just good ol’ T truth? You tell me. Here. Twitter. Facebook. Buzzfeed.

Until next time. Always take it there.

T

Filed Under: Comedy, Dating, Edgy, Entertainment, Facebook, Family, Life, Opinionated, Parenting, Sex, t-blawg, Twitter, Uncategorized, Women, Writing Tagged With: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
post

My “The Origin of T” Post

August 29, 2011 By Leave a Comment

I keep evolving yo

How did I become the man who writes this blog every Monday? A crazy bastard who lived through so much crazy shit? An opinionated, educated, creative, innovating smooth ladies man whose gift and curse may force him to live a permanent single life of awesomeness? Sometimes a funny yet rude Boston dude? How did I become T? Well get your popcorn ready. Pull up a chair. Pour yourself a glass of Courvoisier. And listen…um…read. Because I wasn’t always like this. I wasn’t always this cool. Some people feel that somebody, some woman, some thing must have had done a number on me to make me this way. This cynical. This experienced. This crazy. This honest. This opinionated. This funny. This awesome. This….humble. Yeah right. Well here’s how I came to be. The Origin of T.

After his epic battle with death at birth and his evil childhood moments….T still was always a good student. Always in the advanced classes. He was in the National Honor Society. Carried a 4.0 grade point average. He only missed 8 days of school his entire life. Seriously. He didn’t go to school because he liked it. Oh no. It was actually pretty easy for him. But he went every single day because he knew that good grades led to college which led to a good job which led to money which led to a better life. A way out. At times he actually took school a little too seriously. But outside of school, especially at home, he had developed one hell of an attitude problem. He needed that attitude he thought. It was his edge. T needed it to stay sharp. Yeah. At his childhood home. He had his reasons in which he probably won’t ever truly disclose on t-blawg. Maybe one day he will. Just trust T on this. So, his book smarts combined with his uncanny street ways with a little bad attitude mixed in, created one hell of a living, breathing, human contradiction. That was his youth. A good kid dealt a crappy hand? Yeah. But he always kept his sense of humor. Thanks to his strong mother, caring sister and equally crazy cousin. They kept him level headed. They kept him going. Seriously. This was when T was just a kid! From the ages of birth to like 13. Crazy right?! Normal childhoods are for pussies. That’s what T told myself.

T knew he was smart. He knew he was ballsy. He knew he was a badass. He just needed a nickname to go along with it. He was a dog. He lived on the third floor of an old three-family East Boston apartment building. His old Italian landlord kept a sign up that said “Beware of the dog.” This is why his friends started to call him T-Dog. And that name would stay with him for the rest of his life. T’s late teen years and early twenties were full of some crazy shit. His closest friends never knew which T was out with them. The smart college T. The angry gets into fights T. The loyal friend T. The hustler T. The funny charming ladies man T. Or the self destructive hates the world T. To this day he is very thankful for all the shit that the people in his life had to put up with during this time. And T managed. With a smile on his face. After all the gym time. After all the scars. After all the tats. He went on the straight and narrow. Graduated college. Calmed down. T entered corporate America and put most of his old life and ways behind him. Biz-T came to be. T went on the nightlife scene and met some spectacular women. And some not so spectacular. He had his heart broken. Twice. Smartened him up and made him search for a good woman. But occasionally dirty womanizing Nasty T would show up. He now embraced his inner cynicism. A little bitter. And the world later got T Thomas, the writer. The talent. Let’s just say T had many nicknames to match his many sides. Which he definitely should’ve seen a therapist about many years ago. But T never did. His sense of humor, charm, talent, loyalty and ambition, along with his legendary past full of trials and tribulations gave the world a living legend. T blogged about that once. T hopes you read it.

After years of becoming one hell of a man, T was comfortable with who he had become. He wanted to share his life, experiences, tales and opinions with the world. This is where his writing came into play. After at first only utilizing MySpace and Facebook to charm many many hot women, he listened to his inner circle of close friends and family. They said “T. Your updates and comments are hilarious!” and “You’re the man! Dude, you say shit and do things nobody else does.” T knew this. He always knew this! He was already a writer to a certain degree but the world did not get to see it from T’s point of view. It was time. The people wanted a blog. The people wanted T! The people wanted t-blawg!!! A place that captures T’s many sides while being entertained thanks to the mind of a one of a kind genius who always takes it there. A ladies man. A real man. A former punk. A writer. A businessman. A true Bostonian. A recovered asshole. A man who sometimes lived in his own crazy world! But what if this world collided with the regular world? What would happen??? t-blawg would happen. And here we are today. Is it really T’s world and we’re all just living in it now? He sure thinks so. And now you know. The Origin of T.

What did you think? Is it all starting to make sense now or you more confused than ever??? Tweet the kid. Facebook the kid. BuzzFeed the kid. Or holla right here people.

Until next time. Always take it there.

T

Filed Under: Awesomeness, Boston, Bro Code, Comedy, Dating, Different, Entertainment, Facebook, Funny, Movies, Opinionated, Screenwriting, Sex, Social Media, Sports, t-blawg, TV, Twitter, Uncategorized, Women, Writing Tagged With: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
post

My “Another Birthday Epiphany?” Post

August 22, 2011 By Leave a Comment

Just once. Please God. Just one fucking bday let it happen!

It’s my birthday. Another year gone by. Another year starting. So it’s time for another birthday epiphany post. This was last year’s. Last year I was humbled. I got hit with some major ass kryptonite and Superman lost his ability to fly. So I entered my “Legendary” Larry Bird year humanized. What did I learn during my Larry Bird year? A lot actually. I learned who my real family is. Who my real friends are. But most importantly, I learned a lot about myself. What I’m really capable of. And I learned that I have a lot of resolve. I learned that once I put my mind and heart into something, I get it done. I accomplish. I don’t break. This has actually been one hell of a fantastic year for me when I really think about it. The world tested the shit out of T and I stood tall. When all the dust was settled and all the smoke had cleared, I came out on top. Finally. After 2 years of battling in almost every aspect possible, I had won. I came through in the clutch. And I enter my Truth/Clutch year. My Paul Pierce/David Ortiz year.

What do I want to happen during this next year? Hmm. Again, I don’t let the age number dictate my life. I also don’t go by the regular fiscal year. I go birthday to birthday. So this year I just want it all. That’s right. Everything that I want I am going to get. And that’s the Truth. So I need to come through in the Clutch. Like only I can. I’m swinging for the fucking fences this year baby! I’m getting the title. Another title for Titletown! My banner is getting raised to the rafters. I want the success. I want the girl. I want Hollywood. I want my family to be set. I’m going toe to toe and taking out anything and anyone that gets in my way. Nothing is stopping me. I now have the foundation built and a life tested playbook for success. Now it’s just time to execute.

I definitely could write about my awesome annual bday bash that always has the same people there every year when I write these. My closest people. My inner circle. The ones who help me do what I do. The ones I do it for. They know this. Those parties are fucking epic. Let’s just say Puffy and Jay-Z don’t have shit on T’s birthday parties. But I would rather write about where my head is at. Where my heart is at. Where my life is at during my birthday. I think everybody should reflect on their birthday. The year that passed. The year ahead. It really is an epiphany. Your eyes are opened. Your head is cleared. Your heart is realigned. You see the Truth. You see what you have done or need to do in the Clutch. This is where I’m at. This is the year I have ahead for myself. And I’m fucking pumped for it!  It’s my Paul Pierce year. My David Ortiz year. Watch next year’s post. Mark my words. Happy bday to T.

Until next time. Always take it there.

T

Filed Under: Alcohol, Awesomeness, Birthday, Blog, Boston, Celebrity, Comedy, Crazy, Different, Edgy, Entertainment, Exciting, Facebook, Family, Funny, Holiday, Humor, Interesting, Life, Opinionated, Party, Screenwriting, Social Media, Sports, t-blawg, Titletown, Twitter, Uncategorized, Women, Work, Writing Tagged With: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
post

My “T Does Poughkeepsie in 3 Paragraphs” Post

August 15, 2011 By 5 Comments

The Albanian bartender was hotter

*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.

If you’re from Poughkeepsie you may not want to read this “T Does City in 3 Paragraphs.” I’m serious. Ok. I warned you. I fucking hate Poughkeepsie. It is the taint of America. THE TAINT!!! The ass ball connector! It is horrible. I’ve been to Po-Town once in my life and I will never, ever go back. Now some people have their stereotypical opinions on why they think Poughkeepsie sucks. Not me. I have a legit beef with that fucking place. It’s personal. It’s ugly. And it’s time I tell the story right here on t-blawg. Most of my friends know this story. Because they laugh because they know me. Now years later I can laugh. But it took me over 3 years to get over what transpired there.

Enter November 2007. A good friend of mine moved back home to Poughkeepsie. She’s a really close friend. A member of my bullpen. She would always come back to Boston to visit so I figured I should visit her there. Plus I wanted to see her life there. I left work at 7PM on a Friday night. Shot to the store to pick up a nice new button up. Was on the Mass Pike by 8:30. After 3 & ½ hours of driving by myself and pumping red bull I finally got to her house. She and her roommate greeted me with wine. We killed that quick. Then we went to the only damn club in the whole town. I will not even give that place any publicity on my blog. Let’s call it “Fuckface.” The bartender was smoking hot and loved my Boston attitude. We hit it off. She gave me drinks. All the while this town unbeknownst to me, was apparently an Albanian mafia heavy town. That’s cool yo. I like everybody. Until there is a problem. So some Albanians in “Fuckface” didn’t like that the hottie Albanian bartender liked me. And I guess some of the Albanian chicks there were grilling me and their dudes didn’t like that either. So I kept drinking. “Fuckface” closes earlier than most spots and everybody left. I go to grab my expensive jacket in an empty coat check and it’s gone. This was a problem.

I’m from East Boston. Growing up, people would beat your ass and take your coat, hat and sneakers all the time. Well I never let that happen to me as a kid. So as an adult that shit was not going to happen to me in this hillbilly town in this club “Fuckface.” I went nuts. The cops came. They questioned people who worked at “Fuckface.” Nothing. They played video footage back. Nothing. And no coat room video camera either. So now everybody from “Fuckface” said to try the bar next door because the degenerates from this club may have stolen my jacket and went over there to finish the night. Cops told me not to, I did anyways. I looked around. My coat wasn’t there. I’m so drunk at this point I don’t even remember what the Albanian dudes from “Fuckface” look like. So after the police leave, hey fuck the police, I take the prison approach. Which is “Go after the biggest dog in the yard and beat his ass to set an example.” Hey I was drunk and angry. I know. And stupid. So, I go up to the biggest Albanian in there, shove my forearm into his throat and slam him against the wall demanding my jacket. Ten bouncers pull me out of there. I get on the phone to some old school Boston buddies and tell them to drive to Po-Town so we can blow this town up. My cousin told me to calm down and to be careful of the Albanian mafia. What?! He said I could get into some shit and I was far from Boston. Nobody told me about this before I decided to come to Poughkeepsie. I really wish somebody did. My friend and her brother took me to my first real diner and calmed me down. I went back to “Fuckface” the next day and scared the owner a bit. He cut a check for my coat. It wasn’t about the money. It was the principle. That was the last time the old me ever showed his face again. Thank God. I apologized to my friend. Spent the next night freezing my ass off without a coat and then went back home to Boston the next day. I vowed to never go back to Poughkeepsie again. I fucking hate Poughkeepsie. But I love Boston the most.

What do you think of this “T Does Some City”??? Definitely a negative review but look what happened! Have you ever been to Po-Town? What was your experience? And were you aware of the Albanian mafia??? I want to know! Here or on the Facebook page or tweet me on Twitter.

Until next time. Always take it there.

T

Filed Under: Alcohol, Awesomeness, Blog, Boston, Comedy, Crazy, Different, Edgy, Entertainment, Exciting, Facebook, Funny, Humor, Interesting, Life, Opinionated, Party, Social Media, t-blawg, travel, Twitter, Uncategorized, Women, Writing Tagged With: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
post

My “Bro Bachelor Party Code” Post

August 8, 2011 By 7 Comments

Watch this 80s classic before any bachelor party. It's friggin' "Bachelor Party!"

If you’ve been reading t-blawg, then you know I’m a real believer in Bro Code. Seriously. First there was my “I Respect the Bro Code and You Should Too” post. Which has reached iconic status. Google it. Then there was the “Bro Dress Code.” Which has reached epic proportions. Google that too. And the last chapter was my sure to be legendary “Bro Strip Club Code” post. Today I am here to add an interesting chapter that most men don’t talk about outside of their inner Bro Circle. They don’t want this part of the Bro Code public. And hey, I get that. I really do. But it is my responsibility to share my life knowledge right here on t-blawg.com! It’s what I do. So today I reveal the latest chapter in my Bro Code rule book….the “Bro Bachelor Party Code.” Wait! Hold on! Slow your roll. Don’t worry fellas. I’m not blowing up your spot. My spot. Our spots. We’re all in this together. The about to be married. The married. The single. The rules will be given without any incrimination. Trust me. T knows what he’s doing here. I’ve been in 6 bachelor parties in my life. And I know tons of other guys who have as well. These rules come from and for us all. The “Bro Bachelor Party Code.”

Thy Bachelor Party Email
A generic email is sent out with a subject line like “How about that game last night?” from the best man and brother(s) to all the bachelor’s bros. Make sure it’s secure. Just in case any outsiders like girlfriends or wives may read it. Tell all the guys that the bachelor party planning has been initiated. Email back if interested. Boom. No details yet. Hash that shit out once you get the replies.

Thy Two Types of Bachelor Parties
There is the home. And there is the away. You can have one. You can have both. Sometimes there are a few. Either way, this must be communicated to the bachelor and the participants. Everyone must be allowed the essential allocated time to plan. Many bachelor parties get fucked up because there is a failure to communicate. Don’t fuck it up!

Thy Bachelor Party Essentials
All that generic golf, spa, camping, fishing shit etc. can or cannot happen. This is the real shit right here! Dinner-to please the old fuckers and weirdos so you can get rid of them and the bachelor’s future in-laws early so the ugly shit can then happen. Booze-goes without saying. Transportation-to get every single guy around. Especially the bachelor. Naked Girls-whether it’s a strip club, strippers in a hotel or getting regular chicks naked on the party bus, it must happen. Casino-Vegas or the local Indian casino. Doesn’t matter. Find one.

Ye ‘Ol Bachelor
It’s about him. Period. But he has no say. And can’t know what is going to happen ahead of time. This way he can’t get into shit with the bride to be before the party and say something like “Suzie doesn’t want any gambling or strippers.” Yeah ok buddy. Fuck Suzie. So you don’t tell him shit! And he must get drunk within proportion to what you are doing to him. He will need to be functional enough to take the whole night in. Bachelor party bros’ job is to make sure the bachelor has fun not die. His wife can slowly kill him over time after the honeymoon. Zing!

Ye guys go to dinner
Have this dinner. Nice and early. For the bride’s dad, uncles, brothers and cousins. Feed them. Chat them up. And then let them know it’s time for them to go. Be nice. But be firm. I don’t give a shit if the bachelor thinks any of them are cool. These guys are not a part of the inner circle. They will make the bachelor feel weird during one of his lap dances or 82nd shot. Get rid of them. All of them. Even his dad and annoying, weird hillbilly relatives. Shit just got real.

There shall be no physical proof the party ever happened. Ever.
If you bring a camera you get punched in the face. If you take a pic with your phone, it gets smashed in your face. If you check-in/foursquare in any place on the bachelor party path, you get stabbed in the face.

There shall be naked women
Doesn’t matter if the bachelor was firmly against this. He’ll be happy as a pig in shit when he has some big ass titties in his face. Whether it’s on the bus, in the club or in a Vegas suite in the Bellagio the naked women must happen. It’s his last hurrah. Whether he engages in sexual activities or not with them is totally up to the bachelor. Just pay for him. Don’t ever judge him. And always act like it didn’t happen. He may be a douche for doing it, but it’s his party.

There shall be gambling
A card game. A casino. Flipping fucking quarters behind the 7-11. An intense game of friggin’ Uno! Whatever. Gamble!

There shall be lots of booze
At the dinner. The bus. The hotel. The bar. The strip club. The club club. Booze all over the place! The bachelor should have a drink at all times. Doesn’t need to double fist. Just never thirsty.

There shall be no communication to thy outside world
No phone calls. No texts. No facebooking. Not for the groom. Not for anybody! Who the fuck are you talking to at a bachelor party while you’re smashed and have 2 naked chicks molesting each other on the stage in front of you anyways?! Just take the groom’s phone from him right after the dinner.

Thy groom never ever sends flowers to thy crazy bride
This admits guilt or will make the bride think you’re guilty of something even if you didn’t do anything dumb ass. It isn’t sweet. It isn’t smart. Shut up. The guys must make sure the bachelor doesn’t do this on an away bachelor party. This is a major bachelor party foul.

All bros shall pay. No freebies.
Any cheap dudes need not come. Seriously. Bachelor parties are not cheap. If you can’t participate, stay home. Nothing personal but nobody likes that guy who can’t pay when it’s his round. Or doesn’t throw in for any of the entertainment or anything. Just stay the hell home and take the bachelor out for some drinks on your own.

There shall be fear!
Sometimes the occasional bride brother or rat bastard cousin makes it on the whole bachelor party run. As the bachelor’s bro it is your job to either install fear into the hearts of them or pay to have some dirty sexual shit done to them to keep them silent. I’ve offered to kill a couple of the bride’s brothers in my time but the bachelor stopped me. So I just threatened the shit out of them then had a hot ass waitress do mouth to mouth shots to them. It worked.

Thy Bachelor Pays for Nothing
Not a single drink. Not one cover charge. Not one gas station stop snack. Not one lap dance. Not one hand job. NOTHING!!! I’ve seen too many bachelors pay out of pocket for shit on their bachelor parties because their buddies were either too cheap, broke or selfishly looking out for themselves to cover for them. Bullshit. He doesn’t pay. That’s it.

AFTER THY PARTY!

Nobody shall ever talk about the bachelor party once it has ended!
The bachelor cannot talk to the bride about it. The other bros cannot talk to each other about it. You are now bonded to that inner bro circle for life. Whether you are long time friends or total strangers with the other bros. You never bring up what another bro did at that bachelor party if you ever end up in an argument with that bro. And no one can talk to anyone outside of the bachelor party about it ever! It’s like it never happened. Get it? Good.

So there you have it. The latest chapter in T’s Bro Code. The Bro Bachelor Party Code. I don’t want to see any dudes messing up any other bachelor parties from this moment on. Or even speaking about them. Ever. You now know the deal. It has been written, so shall it be!

What did you think of the latest Bro Code chapter? Is it right on? Did it help? Did this one break Bro Code? Let me know! You know the deal. Right here or on Twitter and Facebook!

Until next time. Always take it there.

T

Filed Under: Alcohol, Awesomeness, Blog, Bro Code, Comedy, Crazy, Different, Edgy, Entertainment, Exciting, Facebook, Funny, Humor, Interesting, Las Vegas, Life, Money, Opinionated, Party, Sex, Social Media, t-blawg, travel, Twitter, Uncategorized, Wing Man, Women, Writing Tagged With: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
post

My “T’s Manscaping Rules” Post

August 1, 2011 By 8 Comments

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

Filed Under: Awesomeness, Blog, Bro Code, Comedy, Crazy, Dating, Different, Edgy, Entertainment, Exciting, Facebook, Funny, Health, Humor, Interesting, Life, Opinionated, Sex, Social Media, t-blawg, Tattoos, Twitter, Uncategorized, Women, Writing Tagged With: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
« Older Posts