How to Spot a Douchy Parent

I haven't posted since March, but like a dog that inevitably licks himself in the fun area, I have returned to doing what I do best- complain. I became a parent last April. It was a scary experience. And not just because I became unavoidably responsible and human feces on my hands became normal, but because I became even more aware of what tools other parents can be. I've been appalled to play soccer with my son at the park, only for some four-year-old who should totally know better to take the ball away from him. Since I can't exactly punt the kid into oncoming traffic, you can imagine my frustrations.

So, anyway, through my travels, I have narrowed my list for how to pick out a douchy parent to the following characteristics:

- Kids names all start with the same initial

Here are my children, Frankie, Freddy, Fiona and Fuckface! Aren't they adorable? No. They're pretty unpleasant-looking. Starting your children's names with the same letter is no more creative than dressing them in nauseatingly matching outfits. Don't get me started on that shit.

- They are wearing a #1 Dad shirt, hat and wristbands

Nothing says "punch me fast" like these overly exuberant family men whose wardrobe consists of these ghastly MVP Dad gimmicks. Just because disinfectant wipes are now your life is no reason to give up hope you can still be at least kind of "cool." I mean, come on man. And it's always doofy white guys who wind up going in this dark, dark direction.

Guys who wear this hat have as much personality as this bearded mannequin does.

- Fanny packs. My God, the fanny packs...

There is absolutely no excuse for this. You have pockets, your unsightly wife has a purse, you're probably carrying a diaper bag the size of Vern Troyer. Why the need to dangle personal items over your nutsack? Is it really so small you feel inclined to hide it? I feel sorry for you. And your child who has such a nerdy father to look up to.

Thanks for crushing my childhood image of what a real man is, brother!

- Their kids are pooping in crayon boxes and coloring on toilets

Hey mom, guess what?! When that child of yours popped out of your vag and eventually figured out how to put one foot in front of the other, he became your responsibility until he gets hooked on crack in college. Letting your child roam free and not creating boundaries for them isn't being liberating, it's being an asshole. Kids need rules. Otherwise, they'd whiz in your mashed potatoes and when you laughed, they'd think that was acceptable. Hence, you'd raise a dickhead bully who thinks fucking with other people's shit is kosher. Way to go, Antonio Cromartie.

- You call their house and their 14-month-old is on their answering machine

Quite possibly the coup de gras of parental douchyness is allowing your barely literate child to leave the outgoing message on your home answering machine. Here's a general rule: If your kid is a well-spoken five-year-old and you think it's cute to have her represent your household to literally anyone who calls, that's fine I suppose. But if your toddler sounds like Helen Keller choking on a donut, let her play with a fucking BABY phone. Pretty sure that's what those are for.

- They proudly display their child's meaningless scholastic achievement on their rear bumper

You've seen them. Oh, we've all seen them.

"Proud Parent of a an Honor Roll Student at Douche-Chill School for the Deaf"

And then there's the bumper stickers that attempt to counteract this:

"Proud Parent...Period!"

So, if you're keeping score, the kid in the first scenario is kinda smart, but his parents are announcing this one accomplishment just in case this is the end of the road and his intelligence stops with 2+2. The kid in the second scenario is an idiot and his parents don't want to admit it.

There are plenty of other ways to spot a douchy parent- if they bring their child to a non-child-friendly event (like a hanging), if the kid's name is Kyle, Chad, or an abstract hippie concept like Faith or Inner Peace, etc. The hate goes on...

Thanks for reading. I'm currently in the home stretch of finishing my fiction book, which has been a labor of love for years now. I think I can, I think I can!

jdp

jdeprospero@gmail.com

Understanding the Hate: Five Things I Would Change About American Idol

I watch American Idol. As a singer, I feel compelled to watch, despite the fact that it loses me miles of respect with my circle of male friends. It frequently disappoints me, I often find myself thinking, "I could even do better than that," but it's the one show on TV I've tuned into religiously for the past five years. And although I'll defend my viewership to anyone who hurls tomatoes in my direction, some of the lamer aspects of the show are starting to become more obvious as the seasons go by and they don't change. So, with that in mind, here's a brief list of the top five things I think need to change on the show in order for it to thrive beyond this season (but mainly to make it easier for me to defend it).

* Making the loser sing right after they've been voted off.

We voted this hack off for a reason. Because we DON'T want to hear them sing. So what does AI do? Why they make them sing again! And what song do they have them sing? The very same song that failed them the night before. Brilliant, Idol producers. Remind me not to come to you after I've experienced a grave disappointment in life. "Fell off a horse and broke your neck? Well saddle up again, partner!"

* Puke-worthy group sing-a-longs

The judges continually encourage the contestants to stand out and be an individual- be your own artist. Then what do they do? They have them all sing a Top 40 pop hit to start each results show, like it's the fucking Mickey Mouse Club. When Chris Daughtry was a contestant, he looked so incredibly uncomfortable during the group songs that you'd think he was carrying a load in his pants. It totally puts people like him (and this season's Crystal Bowersox) in unfitting situations that only takes away from their artistry, and certainly doesn't add to it.

Okay, right when you guys hit the chorus, point in unison at the audience. But be original.

* Contestants blaming their poor performance on "I was just having fun."

Having fun is not a good excuse for totally sucking....in any aspect of your life. If you cheat on your wife and she catches you, would you shrug your shoulders and say, "Hey, I was just havin' fun. I like blowjobs and she was hot. Cut me some slack"? No. Then don't say it after you've clearly tanked while trying to pull off Marvin Gaye's "Sexual Healing." We, as the audience, would much rather you were miserable and just sang well.

* Showing other contestants in the background who aren't singing

They constantly do this. They make the other singers stand in back of that railing behind the stage, forcing them to awkwardly bob their head and sway their body to the music and try not to shit themselves as they wait for their turn on stage. If you're in that position and you're a rock singer dancing to a pop song, you instantly lose credibility. However, if you just stand there and don't react at all to the music, you look like a prick. Thanks for the no-win situation, Idol folks.

* Hammering home the sob story

I can understand that part of the appeal of this show is that each particular singer has his or her own country song about how they got there. But once we know their story, leave it at that for God's sake! By week 6, I no longer care if Andrew Garcia is trying to make a better life for his malnourished, underprivileged son. That's all fine and good, but him being a good father and making up for his crackhead parents doesn't put new songs on my iPod. In fact, here's a good story. Once upon a time, there was a man who could fucking sing! The end.

This is the first season I can remember that I haven't voted once. Think about that, American Idol. And heed my advice.

-jdp

Coffin in Your Face: Why Attending Wakes & Funerals is a Stiffer Punishment Than Death...and How to Fight It

I don't have a fascination with death. Regardless of the fact that I participate in celebrity death pools and frequently envision the potential outpouring of sadness, or lack thereof, at my own services, I'm not one of these people who watches the news nightly to get my fill of tragic infant drownings. I'm much more interested in discussing the social awkwardness that these deaths create. It's less depressing and far less people are exploring this avenue. So, with that said, here is a collection of some of the reasons why I believe, when it comes to wakes and funerals, the corpse has it easy...

* What's worse than canned tomato sauce? Canned conversations.

I feel like one of those wind-up dolls from the second I walk into a wake till the second I leave. Because there's only a handful of sentences you're allowed to say when attending these events. You are generally confined to the following:

"At least he/she isn't suffering anymore."
"He/she is in a better place."
"Let me know if there's anything I can do."

I refuse to say any of these trite, overused phrases. You know what I do instead? I surprise them with something out of left field, like, "She always cooked with just the right amount of onions." or "It's a shame he never got into Backgammon. I feel like he would've been good at that." They always stare and act confused, but at least they're not crying.

"If there's anything you need, anything at all, please don't hesitate to ask anyone other than me."

* Happiness is frowned upon

You have an unwritten obligation to be melancholy at wakes and funerals. Any time I'm at one and I realize that I'm smiling, I try to pretend that I'm on pain medication due to the sorrow and that inappropriate smiling is a side effect. Everyone knows it's bullshit, though. Particularly my wife, who sits there shaking her head in disgust at my egregious lies.

* "I feel so alive! Oh...sorry for rubbing it in."

There's a tendency to feel guilty at funerals, just for the simple fact that you're breathing and someone else in the room isn't. To counteract this feeling of remorse, I try to casually bring up a hardship I've recently experienced so I don't feel as undeservingly fortunate. I'll say something like, "Facebook hasn't been loading for me quickly on my Blackberry. What's up with that?" Then I look around and notice that everyone is knowingly nodding in empathy. Other times I'll go up to the coffin on crutches and everyone will ask, "Are you okay, Joe?" And I'll reply, "Oh, it's just a broken femur. I'll be fine, it's Uncle John who you should be worried about, who just lost his wife of 45 years and will surely be looking for the nearest bridge off which to leap." I always come out looking completely noble, people feel sorry about my broken leg, and no one even remembers that someone just died. It's a win-win.

* "Would anyone care for some finger foods? Great, then eat your fingers."

There is never, ever any food at wakes. Hell, there's not even napkins at wakes. The only way you're getting fed is if you're a family member or close friend and make it out to the funeral and there's usually a repast if you make it to the end of this gloomy gauntlet. And the night wakes are almost always 7-9. That's right in the middle of my normal dinner time! You could at least put out a tray of Bagel Bites. Chips. Peanuts. Something! The only real solution to this is to host a tailgate in the parking lot. It might not be your responsibility, but if the ignoramuses in mourning won't do it, the weight falls on your hospitable shoulders.

These beauties will enhance the mood of any death gathering.

* I'm missing the American Idol results show for this?!

You have to pretend that attending these services is more important to you than finding out live who got booted off "I'm a Celebrity, Get Me Out of Here!" Thankfully, these days we have DVR to fall back on (which I'm convinced was invented by a chronic wake-attender tired of having to program his VCR). When I was kid, I left my girlfriend's father's wake to call my mother and make sure she was taping a Van Halen concert I'd been looking forward to for months. We wound up breaking up shortly thereafter, and coincidentally, so did the band. But at least I saw the show.

"You better hope Grey's Anatomy's a rerun tonight, you inconsiderate old bag!"

* When it comes to fashion, don't outshine the corpse.

You're encouraged to dress like you're ready to be placed in a coffin when you attend wakes or funerals (black suit, white shirt, plain tie). I guess they figure just in case you die while you're at the wake, half their work is already done for them. If you're a woman, a bold act of defiance would be to wear the shortest skirt you can find in the loudest print you can find and make out with the highest ranking mourner in the room. You may not be invited to the next family reunion, but who would want to be anyway?

In conclusion, if you die and attend your own wake as a ghost and I'm either smiling, eating, dressed nicely, or not there, now you know why.

Thanks for reading. Podcast coming soon!

jdp

Bloggin' Around the Christmas Tree: Holiday Hangups that Piss Me Off

I love Christmas as much as the next guy (who celebrates it), but more so than any other holiday, there's a series of stresses we need to get past in order to fully appreciate it angst-free. In a way, it's the ultimate holiday. It brings families together, stimulates the economy, and creates a sense of fulfillment from the gift-givers and satisfaction from the gift-receivers as we gather around the tree, delighted to be enjoying a four or five-day weekend snuggled together with our honey, sipping hot chocolate under a warm blanket. In another way, it's 4th of July, with shittier weather, no fireworks, more traffic, the underlying, painful need for external illumination and buying things for people we'd much rather impale with a finely sucked-on candy cane.

But I'm not here to complain about the aspects of Christmas that we all know are annoying. I'm here to complain about the little annoyances you might not have even thought of! So, in the interest of time and your own morbid curiosity, here a few of the reasons why, when I hear Santa's sleigh overhead on Christmas Eve, I weep a little into my pillow.

* Animals dressed as festive human beings

People who get a little too "into" having a pet is the root cause of this abomination, that unfortunately doesn't stop on December 25th. It starts earlier in the year with celebrating its birthday as if it's an actual celebratable event and ends with sending Christmas cards that include a picture of the reluctant animal in front of a wintry backdrop. Make no mistake, I fully support PETA members hurling eggs at you if you're caught strapping a Santa suit on your Chihuahua. Actually, scratch that and substitute hammers for eggs. I think them throwing eggs would be an inherent contradiction. But anyway, animals don't want to be dressed as if they were humans. Would you want to take shits in public and be led around by a chain? I think I made my point.

* Christmas songs with deceivingly wrist-slashing lyrics

I'm not one of these guys who complains when they start playing Christmas music before the rotting pumpkins are in the trash (I have the ability to change the station, as do all). But what often goes unnoticed is that a significant chunk of these songs revolve around heartbreak, sadness and despair! Look no further than "Merry Christmas, Darling" by the Carpenters. Sure, it initially brings a smile to your face. The sweet, sincere lyrics, the strings in the background to accompany said lyrics. Until you get to the last line..."If I had one wish on this Christmas Eve...I wish I were with you." Are you fucking serious?! I sat through this entire sugary ballad just to find out that you're singing about a lover who broke up with you, passed away, or worse yet, never even knew you existed? This is almost as bad as that God forsaken "Christmas Shoes" song, which really should have been titled, "Happy Holidays from the Graveyard (It Sucks That Mom is Dead)." This shit depresses me, and holidays aren't supposed to do that. If it was, Nirvana would've made a Christmas album.

* Why are all the carolers in fictitious, TV show towns?

In just about every movie or TV show about Christmas, there's always that one special scene where there's a ring of the doorbell and lo and behold, there's a team of carolers belting out "Deck the Halls" dressed like 1920s village folk. Well where the fuck are these people in my neighborhood? As far as I'm concerned, they're just as real as unicorns, because I've never seen, nor have I even heard of a sighting of them outside of a Lifetime special. If you've got an ensemble of joyous singers who own long dresses and goofy hats, drop me a line and I'll send you my address. I'm expecting magic.

* Christmas cards make great gifts...for the environment

If there ever was an endorsement for recycling, it's got to be mass produced holiday greeting cards. I understand the underlying need to acknowledge someone without wasting money on them, but I can't remember one time where I received a Christmas card in the mail that excited me (sexually, or otherwise). It's a social obligation and nothing more. And the worst are the cards where the only personalization are in the To: and From: field. It's no more personal than receiving an invitation to a one-day holiday sale at Macy's. And then I have to decide how long to keep them around before tossing them. What if they come over for a visit? Will they look for it? Ah, I can't be bothered. Fuck it.

* The office is completely empty and stress-free, why would I go home?!

I have a hard enough time choosing which days to take off of work normally...but around the holidays it's nearly impossible. Why would I take personal time the week of Christmas when there are less things going on at work than at the Neverland Ranch? Why would I throw away precious accumulated personal time when I can just as easily be wearing my pajamas at my desk than at the dinner table? It's a yearly struggle, really, and one that only gets tougher with time...like a festive STD. The only time I truly want to take personal time are the days when I'm so stressed out that vacuuming my house is my only refuge. And, of course, those are the days when taking off isn't possible. It's a total mind-fuck and it explains fully why so many people kill themselves on their day off.

* What's more annoying than the phrase "Happy Holidays"? People who complain about it.

Don't get me wrong. I find it just as ridiculous as you do that corporate offices around the country refer to the frasier fir in their lobby as the "holiday tree." There's no such thing as a holiday menorah, either. Christmas isn't one of George Carlin's seven dirty words, nor should it be. But just because you celebrate on December 25th, doesn't mean everyone does. Do you really expect your company president to announce "Merry Christmas" in a company-wide newsletter? He or she clearly has bigger fish to fry (and please) than you, posting as your Facebook status update, "Merry Christmas! Not happy holidays! I said Christmas!" Look, you're not a fucking revolutionary or a rebel just because you bypassed political correctness. In fact, I'm starting to think you're more of a douche bag than the "Happy Holidays" folk. If Santa Claus walks by, you're definitely right to wish him a Merry Christmas. But if Woody Allen knocks on your door, I give him full permission to kick you in the balls if you wish him the same.

I'm sure there's much more venom inside, but that's all that eeked out today. I sincerely wish each of you a Merry Christmas (if you celebrate it), a Happy Hanukah (although it might be done by now, for all I know), a Happy Kwanzaa (although none of my black friends claim to celebrate it) and a completely sarcastic, taunt-filled 2010. If I've made even one of you laugh with my nonsense, I consider myself a success. Ha, that's such a lie. One person would be a complete failure.

Anyway, happy fucking holidays,

jdp

jdeprospero@gmail.com

Glasses-Wearers Unite! The Ups and Downs of Having Four Eyes

Before I went on to underachieve and disappoint my parents in college, I was once a wee, innocent first-grader in Mrs. Bosland's class. Already pining after girls instead of doing my homework, I knew something was wrong. Whenever the teacher would write something on the blackboard, it just looked like a bunch of jumbled up, blurry letters to me, but I was the only one in the class who seemed to have any problem with it. The other kids were answering questions, keeping pace, while I sat there completely and utterly confused (and occasionally, weeping). "There must be something wrong with me," I thought to myself. And there was something wrong. I was half fucking blind! They don't give you a vision test before they send you to school (which, in retrospect, makes little sense) so I just assumed everyone saw the way I saw and that I was just an idiot who couldn't figure it out. Twenty four years later, my opinion of myself hasn't changed much, but I have been able to narrow the effects of glasses on my life to the following pros and cons. So, here it go...


Con #1: Halloween costumes = always a fucking problem


To me, October is the marquee month. The temperature is near perfect for me, there's always that faint smell of a fireplace by the last week, and it is closed out by my favorite holiday, Halloween. The only problem? There are absolutely no legitimate costumes that aren't at least partially ruined by having to wear glasses. In the fourth grade, I dressed as one of my horror movie heroes, Freddy Krueger. But since I had to wear my specs with the costume, I looked more like Freddy's geeky younger brother, Teddy Krueger...who would console and play World of Warcraft with the families of the people he slaughtered.

Don't even get me started on masks. Your only options are to wear the glasses over the mask (which, if I need to say it, is completely unacceptable), or not wear them at all and count on your friends to guide you and hope they don't lead you through dog shit. Needless to say, it's a faulted experience.


Pro #1: Get out of doing pretty much anything...


Since people with perfect vision practically see us as handicapped, it's easy to squirm out of performing menial tasks like driving to the food store or paying online bills by simply pointing to the metal rims on your face and shrugging your shoulders. Pity is good.


Con #2: Peeing in the middle of the night is always a judgment call...


I'd imagine all male glasses-wearers can relate to this. You're awoken in the middle of the night by the unrelenting urges of an overfilled bladder. But you want to avoid getting up because, well, you're still half asleep. So you muster the strength to roll off the mattress and stumble to the bathroom. But you're not sure whether to put your glasses on because a) you're lazy, b) you can't find them in the dark or c) putting on your glasses means you're really waking up, which is a reality you can't quite face. So you either have to bite the bullet and reach for the glasses in the dark or just pee all over the toilet seat.



Pro #2: It's the ultimate accidental fashion accessory...


People already think I'm gay, so what's one more log on the fire? Since you're stuck with this on your face, you might as well make the best of it - and still manage to get laid in the process. Companies like Armani, Gucci, Dolce and Gabbana and Guess have been helping glasses-wearers get some for years. In fact, I'm pretty sure I owe my entire sex life to the helpful staff at Cohen's Fashion Optical for steering me towards designer frames. Where was this style revolution when I was getting slammed into lockers in 6th grade?


Con #3: The assumption is that you're a blind nerd who likes doing blind, nerdy things...


Anyone who's ever worn glasses regularly has gotten the schmuck in their face asking them, "How many fingers am I holding up?" And if murder was ever acceptable, I'd say this is the time. But that's the mentality that a lot of perfectly-visioned ignoramuses have. They think we're still blind, despite the corrective lenses right their on our faces. And it's also assumed that we're sexless nerds who like to play online chess and masturbate to the New York Times crossword puzzle....which is just absurd. In fact, if I make it as far as 7 ACROSS on that thing I consider it an achievement. And I'd masturbate to that.



Pro #3: People are reluctant to punch you in the face...


You wouldn't hit a guy with glasses, would you? Well, when polled, America told us that 67% of them would be less likely to strike an individual in or around the facial area if said person was wearing glasses. Okay, I made that poll up, but I don't doubt that it's in the neighborhood of accurate. If the downside of wearing glasses is that people don't think you're tough, the upside has to be that people will feel sorry for your weak ass and not pound on you. Right? Now, I know what you're thinking. But, Joe, you've been teased, mocked, pushed, slammed into lockers, and given countless wedgies as a kid. Yes, this is all true, but I was never once punched in the face. Just sayin'.


Con #4: Swimming is a monumental pain in the ass...


If you're half-blind like me, you're nodding your head at this point. Unless you can wear contact lenses or have prescription goggles (and really, the nerdiest of nerds won't even wear those), you have two options when you're at the beach or a pool. You can either keep your glasses on and risk losing them in the water and being "that guy", or you can take your glasses off and feel your way through it, hoping you don't pull a Greg Louganis on the diving board. Anyone who wears glasses will tell you that neither option is attractive. You either end up walking around with foggy lenses, losing them entirely, or worse yet, not being able to enjoy the nearby T&A parade. Fuck that.



Pro #4: They shield us from all evil!

In 6th grade science, I was one of the few who didn't have to wear protective goggles while dissecting a frog. Why? Because my protective goggles are already on my fucking face, baby! I remember feeling a sense of pride (with a dash of embarrassment) when Mrs. Stevens told the class, "Everyone put on their plastic goggles. Except for you nerds. Life has been hard enough on you, I don't think you deserve to be further nerdified by giving you yet another set of eyes." Okay, she didn't say any of that shit. And while we're on the topic, they make wonderful grass shields when mowing lawns.

Con #5: Making out is hard to do...

It's bad enough when one of the two has glasses, but when both do, it gives new meaning to "hot and steamy lovin'." There is simply no non-awkward way to make out with someone without the glasses becoming an issue at some point in your tongue-slapping session. It's kind of like trying to kiss your girlfriend, but your siamese twin brother is there. It's just uncomfortable. Three minutes in and your face looks like a downtown London morning. I mean, sure, you could take them off, but trust me, you'll need them later on.

Pro #5: There is no Pro #5...

This would've made the list even, but I honestly couldn't think of another benefit of wearing these things on our faces. I could've made something up, but I didn't want to bullshit you.

Con #6: Try watching TV in bed. I double dare you.

Like most things glasses-related, you can either be comfortable and blind or uncomfortable and sighted. If you're lying in bed and have any intention of catching the late edition of Sportscenter, or maybe even TBS's edited, yet passable reruns of Sex and the City, you only have one option: Position the TV at the foot of your bed and lay straight on your back. If the TV is anywhere else, you need to lay on your side and either prop your head up with your elbow or even worse, press your glasses into the pillow with your face. No matter what, you'll pass out and wake up once you realize there's something on your face in bed that shouldn't be there. Just writing about this pisses me off.

And in closing (because I prefer not to end on a negative note), a tribute to some of my favorite fellow glasses-wearers...

Thanks for reading,

jdp
jdeprospero@gmail.com

Embarrassing Things I'll Admit That I Probably Shouldn't - Part 1

If you've known me for any extended period of time, you almost certainly know that I'm not easy to label. Oh, you can try to slap the "sophisticated, nice guy, wine drinker" label on me, but I'll counter that with a personalized bowling ball, a dick joke and a 25 year collection of pro wrestling memorabilia. Bottom line, I'm an enigma. And even I have a hard time figuring out why I am the way I am...and why I do the things I do. So, with that said, here's a collection of completely random confessions, that could only come from the warped mind of JDP...

* Sometimes, when I'm in the shower, I wonder if a ghost is watching me. And then I jump to all these crazy conclusions about who the ghost is and why they're there. Maybe it's my Grandpa Pat? Then I find myself rushing to get out of the shower because him seeing me naked is just plain gross. What if it's Marilyn Monroe? I suddenly find myself sucking my stomach in. It's weird, I know.

Is he "friendly" enough to check out my junk? I don't wanna know.

* Whenever I see two people who are about to collide with one another (like, coming around opposite sites of a bend), I sit back and let it happen. One could be carrying a wedding cake and the other a house of cards...doesn't matter to me. In fact, in situations like that, I'm more inclined to grab the closest camera to snap a shot of the eventual collision. It's like seeing a shooting star; I embrace the disastrous moment.

* Despite being raised a baseball fan, I haven't watched a full game (including ones I've gotten free tickets to) since about 1993. However, I've seen every episode of The Golden Girls at least twice. Don't get me wrong; playoff baseball can be extremely exciting. But regular season, no-playoff implication baseball? I'd personally derive more enjoyment from one of Rose's St. Olaf stories. It makes no sense that I'm straight, I realize that.

* On the day of my 8th grade dance in junior high school, I inexplicably took a suction cup and stuck it to my forehead (Hey, it was 8th period, I was in band and had forgotten my French horn. Hence, I was nerdy and bored). So, the cup clung to my forehead as I frantically tried to yank it off. Eventually, after a painstakingly long 45 seconds, I was able to free my skin from this idiot death trap. Long story short, I went to the dance solo with a ping pong ball-sized red circle between my eyes, obviously covered in makeup that my sister had applied. For those wondering, (if being in band with a red circle on my face didn't give it away) I did NOT get laid that night.

Life sucks. Sometimes it sucks on your forehead.

* I did not care for the movie The Matrix. In fact, I fell asleep on it in the theater. I did, however, greatly enjoy the delightfully optimistic romantic comedy Love Actually, starring the unmistakably charming Hugh Grant. See last line of confession #3.


* The first "album" I ever personally purchased was MC Hammer's "Please Hammer Don't Hurt 'Em" in 1990. Looking back at what my other options were- Faith No More's "The Real Thing," Aerosmith's "Pump"...I'm even more embarrassed. It's like looking back at the 1984 NBA draft when Sam Bowie was selected over Michael Jordan. A travesty.

Please Children, Don't Buy 'Em

* When I was in 8th grade (not a good year for me, clearly), I was chosen as "Athlete of the Month" in gym class- sadly my greatest "academic achievement." The gym teacher asked me to answer a series of questions on a piece of paper and next thing I knew, it was blown up on a poster board outside the boy's locker room, so the entire school knew that my favorite movie was "Ghost." I thought those answers were a private share between Mr. Smith and I! See last line of confession #3, again.

Although my manhood was seriously questioned for liking this movie, I still think this scene is pretty hot. Because of Demi Moore. I swear.

* I was in an indoor kickball league when I was about six years old. Sounds fun, right? Well, I made it through all of one game. Well, not even one game, technically. I was rounding third to come home and score a run and literally couldn't find where home base was marked on the gym floor. I started jumping up and down, flailing my arms and crying. I was tagged out. My indoor kickball career began, and ended, there.

Wahhhhh! There go my dreams of making all star!

* My iPod contains music from all of the following artists except for one: Madonna, Whitney Houston, Miley Cyrus, The Grateful Dead, George Michael. I'll give you a hint- it's the only one on this list that isn't completely humiliating.

* After watching Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory as a kid, I took the gum out of my mouth and stuck it behind my ear (after all, Violet claimed to have set some kind of longevity record for placing it there in between chews). My Grandma Eleanor was babysitting me at the time, and had the unenviable task of cutting Hubba Bubba out of my hair with a scissors, while intermittently grunting, "God dammit!" and "I don't know what the hell you did here!" Not my brightest moment.

Apparently, my role model as a child...

I'm sure there will be more editions of this to come, as I've got a whole sack-full of embarrassing tales to tell about myself. And this is just the stuff I'm willing to share!

-jdp

jdeprospero@gmail.com

The Top 10 Most Irritating Facebook Users

We all know at least one person who we've lost our patience with after becoming Facebook friends and discovering what a complete waste of oxygen they are. So, since the name of this blog is The Courtesy Flush, below is a Top 10 list (in somewhat random order) of who I believe should be flushed off of Facebook entirely, for the betterment of our eyes, minds, and more importantly, our entertainment.

1) Everyone Come Read My Insipid Updates!

These are perhaps the worst of the bunch. I've always lived by the philosophy that if you can't say something at least borderline interesting, just shut the fuck up. No one needs to know that you're preparing for a conference call or that you just vacuumed the pubic hair off your bathroom carpet. These are the painstaking details of the day that your brain tells you not to share with others. If you're doing a line of coke with Amy Winehouse, post it. If you're drinking a can of coke with Amy Nobody, keep it to yourself. No one needs to know each time you drop a deuce, you self-absorbed dolt.


2) Baby, I'm Bored

I feared that I might become one of them when I had a child. Thankfully, by the grace of God, I resisted. I'm talking about these people who think it's "cute" to update everyone on their child's oh-so-thrilling daily routine of drooling and shitting themselves. "Today, Spencer said 'Mommy, I love you lots.' How adorable is he?!" Lady, no one likes you, and by default, you're making them hate little Spencer, too. Repeat after me: Just because I'm excited about something, doesn't mean anyone else will be. You should have your tubes tied...around your neck.

3) Oh Hey, Look at My Hotel Room From THIS Angle

When posting photos on Facebook (or anywhere for that matter), think of it like assembling a greatest hits album for a band or artist. Only include the best of the best. It allows you to get to the point and not waste the time of those bound to view them. For example, when you're posting pictures from your wild trip to Vegas, you can leave out the 13 pictures of the fucking sunset you took when you were high on angel dust. An argument should be seen from different sides. Your haggard Aunt Lisa? I think one distant shot of her ugly ass will suffice.


4) The Tag Hags

Don't get me wrong; I like the tagging concept that Facebook has employed. I consider this one of its most lucrative tools. And speaking of tools, there is a whole heap of shit-for-brains who've taken this too far. I mean, if half of your friend's ear is in the shot, is it really worth the tag? I guess it was funny at first, but now it lost its novelty and is just plain annoying. The next person who tags someone's toe is getting tagged in return as "This one has Chlamydia."


5) Today's Forecast: Partly Douchey

These Neanderthals are cut from the same cloth as the baby-updaters and the put-you-to-sleep mafia. The clouds fill the sky, winds blow ominously through the trees, and the distant sound of thunder is heard. Raindrops gather on your windshield. And you know what's next. Everyone, pull your car to the side of the road, log onto Facebook and let everyone know how precipitation has ruined your perfect fucking existence!!! Seriously, the world already has one Al Roker and that's one too many, for my liking. And besides, it's rain, not battery acid. I think you'll survive. Pussy.


6) 3...2...1...Shit Balls!


12 more days till Cruefest!

6 more days until vaca!

4 more days and my herpes outbreak should clear up!


Listen, I don't need daily numbered reminders of whatever insignificant life event you're orgasming over. If I wanted to see a washed up hack who can't put a sentence together count to zero, I'd watch Dick Clark's Rockin' Eve. If you insist on doing this, just know that as your days get smaller, as does your number of friends. Shithead.


7) I'm Sorry, Are You Lost? Or Just an Asshole?

There is a site for people who want to post 10 or more blathering status updates a day. It's called Twitter. If you think you honestly can't limit your number of daily word vomit instances, fly on over and "tweet" there. Facebook is reserved for the less prolific dullards only.

8) "Cause"ing Me Grief

Note to those who send me virtual drinks, hugs, cause invites, smiles, and requests to join your legion of online game-nerds: I ignore everything. If I thought "supporting" anti-animal cruelty Facebook groups would give Michael Vick a bad case of the clap, I certainly would join. But seriously? You sent me a skull? What the fuck does that even mean?

9) Introducing, for the First Time as Husband and Wife...Mr. and Mrs. Toolbox!

There's nothing worse than hanging out with a couple who can't keep their hands and lips off of each other in social settings. That is, until Facebook came along and gave these goons the power to nauseate us in a new, hip way- virtual PDAs. Here's a general rule: No one wants to hear about someone else's successful, love-filled relationship. If you're happy with your boyfriend/wife, etc., good for you. Tell them you love them...to their FACE! Shit, you live together for God's sake! The rest of us are perfectly capable of keeping our happiness to ourselves. You make us feel like the game show contestants moping away with shitty parting gifts while you gleefully skip over to the bonus round. I would hate to play Scattergories with you fuckin' glory-hounds.

10) The Ambiguous Suicidals

Don't even get me started on these Emmy award winners. We all get depressed. It happens. Things don't go our way sometimes. But really, if it's that bad where you can't restrict your gloom to the three or four close friends who can still stand you, it's time to seek a therapist. Seriously. Enough with the vague "is tired of it all and needs an escape." WE now need an escape, from you. The next time I read a paragraph summing up how shitty your life is, it better be your obituary.

I'm sure I've left out some that you would've included. Like the ho who changes her relationship status five times in four weeks, the habitual quiz-takers, and people who include everything but themselves in their own profile picture. But I'll leave that for another rant on another day.

And what better way to close this out than with a song about this very topic...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=55I83jEAIhk

Thanks for reading, even if you fall into one of the above categories and hate me now.

Photo courtesy of GeekSugar.com

- jdp

jdeprospero@gmail.com