So we finally did it. The Pens have won the Stanley Cup for the 3rd time in franchise history. I know this post is rather late, but it is appropriate still. After a few tears were shed, hugs were given, and my arms got heavy from pretending to hold the cup in the air, I realized that the Pens really did do it. The Penguins and the city of Pittsburgh were rewarded for all those hard times, the years where barely 10,000 fans made it to a game, let alone stayed for its entirety, the years where we hoped for the Pens to remain in Pittsburgh, and the years where Lord Stanley seemed to never make it a step closer back to its home, our arms.

Personally, I have been waiting for this moment since I've been born. I know they won the cup in 91-92 but to really feel the presence of the such a championship, this was the first time. Winning the cup was everything I had ever hoped it would be and more. The parade was unreal and to see that these men, who aren't just superstars, but every day people also, could bring such joy to the city of Pittsburgh and anyone who loves the Pens. Although there is a sense of satisfaction, there is a lot of off-season work to be done which is mainly what I will be voicing my opinion about for the remainder of the summer, along with the same old pet peeves and dumb things that make their way into my life.

"Mad" Max Talbot is truly now a Superstar. Go Pens.

The Pacific Blue Saga

   There was an incident the other day that not only reminded me of Mario Lopez and Pacific Blue, but also reminded me of how ridiculous nights in Pittsburgh can truly be. As with any ridiculous night, there were a group of guys drinking. In addition to this drinking, there was some heavy tailgating going on for the Stanley Cup Finals. That equation results in double the drinking. After running through our drinks like it was your sister, we decided it was time to head down to the big screen to watch the game. Like most rookies who break the seal, my cousin decides that he has to take a piss. Of course there isn't a port-a-john within 2 miles and not even Jesus would open up his castle across the street to let my poor cousin relieve his inch worm of its stress. So we decide that if he is going to piss in public, I will too, and even my younger brother joins. Not realizing how drunk I was, I decided to let it hang right in the open grass between the parking lots, where as my brother and cousin decided it would probably be a better idea to go next to a tree or behind a bush. As I finish off giving Mother Nature my lemon lime gatorade, I hear my friend say, "Hey, watch out, there are cops on bikes over there." Not really concerned, I say, "Fuck those cops they are on bikes." I'm not sure if this was out loud of in my head but it obviously gained us some publicity from them. Our drunk, ticketless selves start walking down to the game in our Pens jerseys ready for action. Low and behold, we see those very two Pacific Blue wanna-bees riding their bikes around the parking lot. As we walk towards our seats, pig numero uno takes the jelly donut from his mouth, and yells, "Hey Evgeni!" I look over at my cousin because he is wearing an "Evgeni" jersey. In that split second, about 10 things go through my mind. One of those being, don't run but don't be that moron to actually stop and talk to the cops." Apparently the same thing was going through my cousin's head as we kept walking. In unison, both cops shouted, "Hey Evgeni!" one more time. Unfortunately for my cousin, the alcohol had slowed his thought process, and before he knew it, he was riding solo and surrounded by potbelly one and two.

        After a few basic questions and a stellar fellatio performance by my cousin, he got let off from being cited for "Public Urination" and "Drinking in Public." After what seemed like eternity, "Evgeni" returned to my side and told me all about the story. One of the little miss piggy's who were going to cite him let him go after saying, "Don't pee on my city again." Well I have some insight for him. There is nowhere to pee but on your city, and its not even yours, its ours. The rest is a blur.

Go pens.

Unemployment: The Road to Poverty

Even though I've been meaning to write this post for the past few weeks, I have found it very ironic that I have no time seeing that the unemployment bug as infected more people than the "pandemic" known as swine flu. Speaking of swine flu, so much for it taking over the world. Anyways, I'd probably have a better chance of meeting a girl with a good personality than I would finding a job anywhere near my house. 

I am not really sure why I am unemployed. It is not like I didn't pick up any applications. In fact, I actually applied to 15.5 places. Yes, I applied to half a place because I did half the work which is picking up the application to actually fill out. After rejection and no phone calls, I decided to end my pursuit of a summer job and file for unemployment. Well to my knowledge unemployment checks should be collected by those who are unemployed. That person being me. Well apparently, someone can't collect an unemployment check unless they were actually employed in the first place. Now that is some bullshit.

Unemployment has changed my lifestyle for temporarily. The motto, "money is temporary" tends to be the most affected by unemployment. This motto has been engraved into my head and cannot be taken out, therefore my bank account is going down faster than your mom on prom night. Facebook has made its entrance back into my life and is slowly corrupting my everyday conversation. It sucks, but its what happens when your life consists of eating, drinking, lifting, and going to pens games. I've also been reading a good bit and studying to become a personal trainer but quite frankly I'd rather have a buffalo sit on my face for an hour, then read about "A personal trainer is there to motivate their clients and help them pursue their goals." You've got to be kidding me. I thought a personal trainer was there to talk shit and tell their out of shape clients how worthless they are. Alright, maybe those are just my thoughts.

Unemployment has also led me to blab on and on about the subject. As long as I don't resort to fornicating with fat women for money, I think I'll be able to live with no job and just doing what I want to do for the rest of the summer.

Stay jacked.

Weird Thought

So yesterday as I was washing my hands after going to the bathroom at the gym, I thought of something completely unrelated to working out. I'm sure someone out there has had this same question and same sort of thought process but I'm not sure that I know them. My question to myself was "Why do we wash our hands after going to the bathroom?" I'm not talking about when you take a number two. I'm talking about when you plop the 9 iron or maybe for those unfortunate men, plop out their inch worm and do work on the urinal. Assuming that most people take showers, what is so much dirtier down there than the things we touch in daily activities? People could be touching sick and old dirty people, the tires of their car, or someone's gum ball, but don't think twice about washing their hands immediately after.

I guess there is no point to this question. I was just thinking out loud on why everyone is so paranoid about washing their hands after they go to the bathroom. After all, don't some people in underdeveloped countries drink their urine to survive?

Sick.

Talbot scores. I lose my voice. Pens are up 2-0. Lets Go Pens.

Boston to Pittsburgh to Strip Club

With my car packed more than a black porn star’s underwear, it was finally time to head home to good ole Pennsylvania. As a man of great courage, my cousin decided to make the trek to Boston, spend the day, and endure a long but eventful 23 hours of time well spent with me. The day started at 430 A.M. when we woke up and hopped into the Jeep and immediately began to feel how long of a trip this truly was going to be. Since talking about every twist and turn of the trip is rather redundant and boring, I will mention a few interesting things about the trip.

            Of course there is no way I could reach PA from Boston without passing through the lovely, yet putrid land called New Jersey. Rather than seeing New Jersey, I decided to drive with my eyes closed because it would be better to die as a result of a high speed car crash, than to open my eyes and have them burn slowly and painfully at the eye sore of the United States. Before reaching the Keystone State, my cousin and I decided to take the ceremonial and traditional leak on NJ soil. We figured it was a very generous and selfless thing we could do as New Jersey could only benefit from such a gift. Once finished, we noticed that we were not the only ones trying to help the NJ flora. A girl probably about 5 years old decided it was also appropriate to hold mommy’s hand as she dropped her pants and sprayed the tree. She must have smart parents because she has been taught well.

            As with any kind of trip, we were bound to hit traffic. This traffic though was not because of an accident, not construction related, or not a result of everyone watching a police officer ruin yet another person’s day. This traffic was a result of everyone driving slowly in awe as their eyes were locked on the 18-wheeler that had caught on fire and burnt to the ground. When I say burnt to the ground, the truck was completely gone, leaving a helpless trailer by its lonesome. I had thought about turning around or trying to take a different road, but I realized that this scene was something you see in Hollywood movies, not the middle of PA.

   Towards the end of the trip, we decided to stop and grab some food. As we crushed our food from Wendy’s, we hear an intercom turn on. The man clears his voice and says, “Person number 81, your shower is ready. Please proceed to stall number 6 located on the right.” As the man repeated his message, I look at my cousin and laughed. Not only can you grab food at Wendy’s now, but you can also take a shower right around the corner of the convenience store attached to Wendy’s. If homeless people don’t know about this rest stop, someone should tell them. This place is equipped for them.

   After applying for a few jobs when I got home and no time to nap, I proceeded to venture out to Pittsburgh with my cousin and a friend we’ll call winger. We headed to drink with winger and his brother. After a tournament of beruit and my dignity stolen from a sweep of 2-0 in a best of 3 series, we decided to head to a strip club. As a first timer in the joint, I began to booze harder and harder to get my money’s worth since beer was free once you got in. As I’m on my way to being hammered, girls are throwing themselves at my buddies and I like we are a two for one on the clearance rack at their favorite clothing store. The thing about it is, the girls weren’t even smooth, but rather all business. One approached my cousin and instead of saying “hi” or trying to smoothly seduce his inebriated mind, which wouldn’t have taken much, she instead just says, “what do you say we go upstairs and I give you a lap dance?” At least make some effort to seduce him, or at least fix your gap between your teeth with all your tip money. The highlight of my night was not when I spent 20 dollars on a lap dance, because that didn’t happen, but rather when I sat down at a chair in front of the main stage where girls touched each other as if they were priests at a middle school confession. So one girl does a little dance move touches her stomach then comes close to me and pulls her garter and makes the gesture to for me to put money in. Now either way she was getting a dollar which isn’t a lot but her dance was so bad that instead of giving her a dollar, I responded with, “You’re probably gonna have to work a little hard than that to get a dollar around here.” Not until she told me that I was “the rudest customer that she has ever had” did I realize the magnitude of my comment. Do I regret it? No. Did she deserve it? Yeah I mean she is a stripper and she sucked. Should I have just given her a dollar to keep the peace? Probably. But I didn’t and now she will forever remember me. I don’t know if that is a good thing but I sure got a laugh out of it.

After more drinking and watching women degrade themselves more and more throughout the night, we decided to leave. Of course a group of guys can’t get into their car without someone causing trouble right? Right. Some lanky kid comes up and says that he plays hockey and that his team could beat any team. I laughed. Winger’s brother didn’t bother saying anything until the scrub decided to throw out, “I’ll elbow you in the face.” After getting tossed to the ground by winger’s brother, the kid didn’t learn his lesson. Cops came, we bounced, and I passed out after a long, but interesting 23 hours of pure enjoyment.

No proofread. Had to.

Quick Note

Something funny that happened recently and I didn't have time to write about.

A little background information for the story. So my friend, we'll call him JC, tends to call me a fat-ass every single time we hang out no matter what. Whether its motivation or just out of amusement it happens. Every single time I'm the subject of joking at the dinner table. This time I try to turn the tides. It went like this....

Me: Hey JC, there's 5 more burgers on the grill if you want to stuff them down your throat fat ass

JC: (As he finishes the bite of his first burger) You can't even afford to eat a burger so why don't you get a veggie burger

Me: You would be the only person to eat a veggie burger

JC: No I wouldn't, you can even ask my mom

Me: Mrs. JC, has JC ever had a veggie burger?

Mrs JC: No I don't think he would like those and I've never had one. He takes after me because I like the meats.

I'll let you just imagine the reaction I had to that oblivious statement from his mom. At least it is confirmed that even though I might weigh a little more than my friend, both his mother and he are equally passionate about their meats.

Peace. Love. Prom Queens.