The Broad's Side

I’m sure that you will be shocked to learn that fine dining establishments make me uncomfortable. It’s not like I’m a cavewoman, but I don’t really understand the allure. I recently received a gift card in the amount of $100 for Morton’s Steak House, which evidently is enough to cover two non-alcoholic beverages and a side of asparagus. From the beginning, I felt really out of my element. The maitre d reminded me of one of the Super Mario Brothers if you sucked all the fun out of him and dressed him up in a white tux. He spoke very eloquently and I could tell that he’s probably never been laid in his life. His painful lack of personality left me struggling for conversation as we were led to our table. He paused briefly to pull out the entire table. I thought he dropped his pen or the condom that had been in his wallet for a dozen years, so I stooped down to retrieve it. I felt like a jackass on a huge level when I realized he was actually assisting me with my seating. I’ve heard of pulling out your chair…but the whole table! I did NOT see that coming.

We settled in and had some whispers of conversation, because it didn’t appear to me that you were allowed to speak in this particular establishment. I mulled over my drink selection and found myself in a quandary. Do I order wine in a pathetic attempt to class myself up? Do I really want this tuxedo wearing douche swirling the wine around in a glass and forcing me to sniff the cork? I am no connoisseur, my friends. Do I order a beer and remove all doubt that I fit in? Jesus, don’t judge me. I’d ask for a glass. It’s not as if I’d request a can of Stroh’s and shot-gun it with my car key. I settled on a $20 Screwdriver. Safe, with no sniffing of any kind required. If you’ve never been to Morton’s, when you order steak, that’s all you get. Yes sir, just a chunk of meat on a plate. If you would actually like to enjoy an entire dinner, you must order each piece separately for an astronomical fee. A basic salad is $12, and the cheapest side dish is $10. They actually have macaroni and cheese as a side dish, but they charge you $14! There must be some sort of penalty fee assessed. Who eats Mac n cheese at a premium steakhouse? Not gonna lie… I wanted to. The waiter asked me if I wanted some fresh ground pepper, and I practically screamed at him. I’m sure there’s some sort of per kernel cost for the good pepper. The entire time we were there, I was doing accounting problems in my head. I was attempting to calculate the cost of the dinner as well as the approximate number of times I could go to Taco Night at Merry Arts in Lakewood for the same tab. The answer is somewhere in the neighborhood of 72 times.

I would prefer Taco Night without question. First and foremost, the tacos are amazing. I’m not sure what kind of secret recipe is involved, but they are without question the best tacos I’ve ever had. If you have never been there and live in the Cleveland area, it’s really a must. I love the fact that I can sit in a dimly lit bar drinking my big ass draft beer and watching football. Nobody gives a shit if I’m loud or ‘accidentally’ say the word douchebag. I can wear my baseball cap and jeans without feeling like a homeless person. Shit, there’s even a fireplace. Don’t try to tell me that’s not classy. There is an intricate taco ordering system involved. It’s cash only and you’re required to go up to the kitchen doorway to procure said tacos. It’s kind of exciting… like a drug deal, I would imagine. “psst… I need some tacos, stat!” The taco lady doesn’t have a strong customer service background as far as I can tell, but she can be as ornery as she wants as far as I’m concerned. She can punch me in the face as she delivers my paper plate of delicious tacos… they’re that good. She’s always out back chain smoking, wearing a tie dyed tee shirt between taco constructions. I’m always super nice, although in hindsight that probably makes her want to murder me. I’m actually considering getting her a Christmas present just so that she never cuts off my taco supply. What does one get the taco lady? A sassy apron with jalapenos on it perhaps? My head in a box?

I took a friend to Taco Night a while back and he ordered a plate of hot tacos. For a minute I thought I was watching a scene from Law and Order. At one point he was hunched over in the booth in a fetal position, clutching his stomach and sweating. It was like one of those segments where the drug dealer gets shot, but can’t seek medical attention because he’ll end up in the pokey. He inevitably ends up in septic shock. The tacos are hot, but c’mon! This was a little bit dramatic. You can’t pull off that routine at Morton’s. I don’t think I’ll be headed back to Morton’s any time in the near future. I’d rather have tacos, a burger or a pizza. Besides, I don’t need the added stress of a salad fork while dining.

Wouldn’t it be fantastic if there was a manual detailing what type of people you should avoid building relationships with? Jesus, that would save us all a little time and energy. I have what I consider a pretty solid background in selecting losers, so as a public service I thought that I’d pass along what I’ve learned. Some are steadfast rules, while others are merely suggestions. These tidbits can apply to friendships, significant others or co-worker relationships. Use this information wisely, and please feel free to pass it along. I’m all about helping others.

My first rule is unfortunately a pretty solid one, and there aren’t many exceptions. Never trust a guy with two first names. I realize that this is beyond the man’s control, but it’s just a fact. Not only is he a douche, but he comes from a long line of men who are also douches. Whether they’re a ‘Thomas George’ or a ‘Michael Ryan’… Beware. I’ve never officially met Bruce Wayne, but I bet he’s a tool of epic proportions. He doesn’t even possess any true ‘superpowers’. He uses intellect, science, detective skills and technology to wage his war on crime. That’s equivalent to a homicide detective or a forensic scientist dressing up in a latex bat suit and running around town. All of that to outsmart someone? It would appear to me that this tactic would be much more successful if he played it under the radar. The bad guys probably wouldn’t even see him coming if he were wearing an Ohio State sweatshirt, jeans and a ball cap.

Rule #2 is an elective behavior, which makes it all that much more disturbing. Unless you are coaching a college football game, you should never wear a sweater vest. I don’t understand them at all… aren’t sweaters for warmth? How does one of the sleeveless variety accomplish anything that the sweater is intended for? If you opt for an old man classic turtleneck underneath, you might as well wear an applicator tip as a hat and change your name to Massengill.

Rule #3 is also something that is well within your control, so listen carefully. If your hair starts to turn grey, don’t kid yourself by attempting to dye it to conceal the ‘old’ that’s setting in. You’ll end up looking like you were mugged by the shoe shine guy in the airport terminal, and his weapon of choice was Kiwi shoe polish. For the love of god, put down the ‘Just For Men’ products. If you find yourself experiencing male pattern baldness, step down from the ledge. This doesn’t become an issue until you start using smoke and mirrors in a ridiculous attempt to trick people into thinking you have more hair than you do. There has NEVER been one single documented instance where someone complimented a comb-over without crossing their fingers behind their back, winking or flat out laughing. It looks asinine, so please refrain from exhibiting this behavior. In the event that you decide to shave your head, please be sure that you have a handle on this. I used to know this ridiculous little prick who would constantly have missed patches of hair on the back of his shiny little head. It looked like a bad Brazilian bikini wax. I wasn’t surprised to hear that he ended up getting a divorce. His wife must have hated him if she let him leave the house with a landing strip on the back of his dome.

Rule #4- Avoid the guy who introduces himself using his first and last name as well as job title in situations where nobody gives a shit. It’s usually a guy who’s so pretentious that he insists on being called by his formal first name. He’ll correct you, “I’m sorry, but my name is Thomas.” Worse than that is the guy that calls himself ‘Dr’ in social situations. I’ll tell you what buddy… unless I’m coming down with a severe case of strep throat or need a pap smear, I don’t give a rats ass if you’re a doctor. Do you really need to sign your credit card receipt at Target with ‘Dr Frederick Roger’? I’m sure the sixteen year old cashier and her cart attendant boyfriend are mocking you before you hit the parking lot. Education is fantastic, and congratulations on your successful career… but nobody cares.

Rule #5 involves the always feared ‘short man syndrome’. It’s hard for me to grasp why some men who are of smaller stature feel the need to be such assholes. Don’t treat me like it’s my fault you’re 5’2”. Take it up with your parents for Christ’s sake. I’m not sure if it’s a recognized mental illness, but it should be. If you’re short and pissed off, you should qualify for some special sensitivity training. These dudes should never be put in positions of power, and should have to take some sort of entrance exam to be considered for any type of corporate position. Give them a copy of ‘Snow White’ and see if they can identify all seven dwarves without going bat-shit crazy.

I hope you will find this information useful in one regard or another. God help you if you can see yourself in a combination of categories listed above. If you ever encounter a 5’4” sweater vest wearing tyrant with a poorly shaven head… run before he has the chance to introduce himself. You’re welcome!

As you may have guessed, I am a huge advocate of being allowed to have an opinion and express it freely. If you ask for said opinion, you’d better be prepared for the honest truth. Don’t expect a sugar coated bullshit assessment from me. With that being said, I think that when you express these views, you need to be cognizant of the reality that everyone’s convictions are different. We should all be entitled to judge things our own way. This is the exact reason I suffered a meltdown while watching CSI the other night. I typically blast past commercials because I can’t tolerate live television. One ad caught my eye because it was about Issue 3 in Ohio, which revolves around building four casinos in cities around the state, including Cleveland. I’m all about listening to the facts and hearing arguments for both sides, but I wasn’t compelled to hit the polls until this gem came on my TV. It was a cartoon devil laughing in a very evil manner with the big “VOTE NO” caption. This little prick went on to describe how voting yes on this particular issue would essentially make me the worst parent ever. It would put the nail in the coffin for all of society. People who gamble are deviants and casinos attract prostitutes and homeless people. Violent crime would skyrocket and every bad hand in Blackjack is a suicide waiting to happen. Have you been to Cleveland? Don’t get me wrong… I love my city. Do we really think that a Casino will create NEW prostitutes and hobos? Who’s sitting around thinking, “Awesome, now that we have a Casino I can finally take a crack at those $20 blowjobs I’ve been dreaming of”? You’re telling me that people are finally going to make that move to be homeless because that whole shelter thing’s getting played out? If the worst thing that happens is they all gather in one place, what the hell’s the problem? Sounds genius to me. If you want to avoid hookers… stay away from the casino. On the flip side, you’ll know where to look if you ever need a good one.

I love to gamble…in fact there’s not much I won’t bet on. I’ve been known to wager on the blood pressure machine at Giant Eagle on occasion. Try that the next time you’re in line at the Pharmacy. You get some interesting looks when you challenge strangers to the high blood pressure contest. I play in fantasy football leagues for money and just about any office pool sounds like a great idea to me. My favorite game in Vegas is the money wheel, and I’m a slut for slots (not literally… I just really like it). Does this make me a bad parent? According to cartoon Satan… yep. As I sat there watching this ridiculous, fact-less, last ditch effort by the campaign, steam was coming out of my ears. I was on my couch wishing I was at Giant eagle because I’d clearly be crowned high blood pressure champion if I was. Basically, my decision to get out of bed the next day and vote yes on Issue 3 was based partly on the stimulation of the economy and partly out of spite. I guess you could say that the devil made me do it.

This next part will most likely make me appear to be insensitive, but that’s ok because I don’t expect you to agree with my opinion. I find it interesting that as a society we’ve created all these new diseases based entirely on man-made issues. Gambling can be considered a disease, as well as alcoholism, bulimia and sexual addiction. I realize there’s probably some truth behind the legitimacy of these addictions, but it’s bothersome. At what point do you get diagnosed with some of these maladies? Is there ever a conversation where someone says, “Did you hear about Phil? He’s got the big G. Yep, it all started with a Texas Hold em tournament at Larry’s, and now he has full-blown gambling. Poor son of a bitch”. Hallmark doesn’t make a card that says ‘sorry you can’t stop betting on the ponies’. Where’s the line between being a good time and being an alcoholic? Ultimately, you still have to make the decision to drink booze. There’s a reason that the recovery groups are ‘anonymous’. There’s no Cancer Anonymous. With that being said, I have a great amount of respect for those people who recognize that there’s a problem and get the support they need to overcome it. I just think that the disease tag is a stretch. My personal view on sex addicts is that they use it as an excuse to bang random people and spare their conscience. Everyone knows that internet porn is the gateway drug to orgies and sex while dressed like giant rabbits. I’m just not buying that this behavior can’t be controlled. Look at Michael Douglas. He’s a recovering sex addict, and if Catherine Zeta Jones’ T-Mobil commercials haven’t pushed him over the edge, nothing will. It probably helps that there’s a $5 million clause in their pre-nup in the event he cheats. Well, Damn it… he’s cured! Imagine that. I’d love to be a fly on the wall in one of those sex addict meetings. How can it possibly be beneficial to get all horned up in a room full of self-proclaimed whores? We all have our vices, but does really liking something necessarily qualify it as an addiction? If you google addictions, there are hundreds of them, which apparently can all be used as a crutch if you get called out on it. A few of my favorites: ‘coin collecting’, ‘zoo sex’ and ‘joking about serious matters’. Crap… one of those three is inevitably going to land me in rehab.