My Transgender Phone.

I was going to write about the UGA/Ga Tech game that I attended over the weekend, but it was pretty uneventful. Another year, another loss for the nerds. Moving along...

About three years ago, I decided it was time to upgrade my phone. At the time, I had the giant blue Nokia phone that everyone had, except by this point most normal human beings had moved on to smaller, cooler ones. I got tired of lugging around a cellular device that would put Zack Morris' behemoth to shame. Plus, small children with plastic cell phones full of bubble gum were making fun of me.

So I headed to the Cingular store with a few requirements.

1) I wanted it to be small enough to fit in my pocket.

2) I wanted to be able to see who was calling me without opening it.

3) I didn't want to spend a lot of money.

I found a really small Samsung phone with an outside screen that was fairly cheap, so I bought that badboy and brought it home.

Little did I know, that badboy was actually a girl. Remember the episode of Seinfeld where George buys glasses with ladies' frames? Yeah. That was pretty much what happened. Except one of my friends didn't shout racial slurs from a comedy club stage years later. But other than that, pretty much the same.

That outside screen that I wanted so badly? Well, it happened to double as a mirror. Probably useful for applying makeup. Not so useful for doing manly things, like trimming nose hairs or getting girls to actually speak to you.

The small size? Well, it turns out it wasn't just small. It was cute. Every tiny fiber of this phone's being was built to be cute. It rings and purple, blue and yellow lights flash on the screen. You charge it and a tiny duck walks across the screen, announcing the extremely high dosages of estrogen emitting from my little silver friend.

Perhaps I could redeem myself with normal ringtones and wallpapers? Nope. It's all yawning bunnies with tulips behind their ears, kittens on tricycles juggling even smaller kittens and happy little songs about puppies and weddings and puppy weddings.

I had to spend half a fortune injecting my phone with some semblance of manhood. For three years, my ringtone blared "Feelin' like a pimp, then go on brush ya shoulders off." As if to scream to the world, "I am a man's phone! Treat me as such!" I was afraid to change songs, because if I did, any slight dip in testosterone levels might have caused my phone to actually grow breasts.

I downloaded UGA-related wallpapers for my background to take the place of happy sunshine-covered daisy fields. I was essentially giving my phone a sex change, whether it wanted it or not. And we were ok with it. It wasn't always easy, but I actually grew to like my phone. Even though it was confused about its orientation, it held up well. That is, until last night.

I know it's gone to a better place. A place where people won't judge it. A place I hope we can all go one day.

And now it's time for a new phone. And you can rest assured that I won't make the same mistake twice. My contract is over, so I can choose from a plethora of free phones, which is good, because I'm a cheap bastard. I have my pick of tons of phones that even Paul Bunyan would consider a little too manly.

I've made up my mind that the RAZR is the way to go. It has everything I'm looking for. It knows exactly what it is. And as I now go to the Cingular website to order it, I see that the free RAZR I want is available in only one color...

Pink.

Thanksgiving = Funhaving

On my MySpace page, I opened up the floor to suggest a topic for today's column. I received an overwhelming number of responses. And for the record, I consider two responses to be overwhelming, since I can't count beyond one. But, since I'm so accommodating, I'll be writing about both.

Danny's topic of the University of Georgia VS Georgia Tech game this saturday will be a later posting, since I'm going to the game and I'm sure I'll have plenty to write about after that. Here's hoping I don't get pulled into any fervent Yellow Jacket tickle piles.

But for today, we have Emily's suggested topic: the top ten things to do while your house is overrun with relatives for the holidays. As Bob Saget would say, here are the finalists, in no particular order.

**********

10. Drink heavily. This will make the rest of these much more amusing. Plus, you'll have an excuse for multiple bathroom breaks. It'll make Grandma's hysterectomy story slightly more tolerable.


9. Grab the turkey, ram your hand up there and start your own puppet show. Call it the "Super Happy Gobble Gobble Fun Time Hour." If time permits, make a small sign that says "First three rows may get doused with giblet gravy."


8. Only converse with the dog. If someone questions your actions, turn to the dog and say, "Excuse me Mr. Sprinkles, would you please tell mom that I'm not speaking to her?"


7. Nonchalantly say that you thought you heard something outside and are going to investigate. While out of view of your relatives, rub cranberry sauce all over you, then run inside screaming and recreate the last scene of Texas Chainsaw Massacre.

Note: If Grandma has a bad ticker, you might want to warn her before you do this one. Or just get her to play along as Leatherface. You know, because Grandma's like to feel like they're useful and stuff.


6. When someone says "Pass the rolls," hand them a big bowl of Ecstacy tablets. It's an expensive and highly illegal joke, but I feel that the hilarity outweighs the jailtime.

Plus, it'll make for a great story when you're older. "Hey kids. Gather 'round and let Grandpa Rowdy tell you about the Thanksgiving he got arrested for possession with an intent to distribute."


5. Scalp your least favorite family member. When questioned, simply state that you're honoring the heritage of the Native Americans, because without them, there would be no Thanksgiving. Then give a loud war cry and leap out the nearest window.

After that, I'd probably find a safe hiding place, what with the murder you just committed and all. Repenting might not be a bad idea either.


4. Instead of eating like a normal, functioning member of society, cram every bite you're about to take into a shot glass. Then, down it quickly and slam the shot glass upside-down on the table and yell "Ohhhhhh yeah!" Repeat throughout dinner, despite whatever protests your parents or your better judgment may have.


3. Ask if you can say Grace, but use it to thank people that have no ties to you or family whatsoever. "Dear Lord, please watch down over us as we gather for this feast. And please watch over O.J. Simpson. I know this whole book and interview thing has been rough on him. He seems like a nice enough guy. And may you help CarrotTop come up with even more hilarious props made of toilet seats. Oh, and maybe shine a little divinity towards Paris Hilton, too. That girl needs a hug. And possibly some penicillin. Amen."


2. Throughout your visit, cuss like a sailor, but censor yourself every now and then for no reason. For example:

"Uncle Clem, I fuckin' love this cranberry sauce. This shit is motherfuckin' cran-tastic. It's good as hell. Oh, excuse me. It's good as heck."

"Well, shit dammit! I can't fuckin' believe how much little Jimmy has grown since the last time I saw him. That shit is un-fuckin-believable. Gosh darnit it all to h-e-double hickey sticks, my mind is fuckin' blown."


1. After dinner, exclaim that you brought over your favorite holiday movie and you want everyone to gather around the TV and watch.

Then put in a dvd of Pam and Tommy Lee's sex tape. Keep replaying the part where he looks at his own member and says "Fuckin' rad!" over and over and over.

Note: Once again, Grandma may need to be excluded from this one. Or maybe she'll be front and center, watching intently. How the hell should I know what kind of freaky shit your Grandma is into?

**********

Special thanks go out to Emily for her topic. For her efforts, she'll receive absolutely nothing.

Happy Thanksgiving everybody and I'll be back after the UGA/GT game this weekend.

Oh, and no Grandma's were harmed in the writing of this blog.

REALLY. MUST. STOP. WATCHING.

After thinking about it, I came up with more inane time-wasting movies that suck the life out of my day and devour my time. Any one of these movies comes on basic cable and I'm stuck watching it. Even if I don't particularly like it. Or am really embarrassed to admit that I've seen it. It's a problem I have. Please help me.


1. Overboard

Kurt Russell is a poor man's Patrick Swayze. Goldie Hawn is an old man's Kate Hudson. But I don't care. Because Overboard is a classic carpenter - gets - dissed - by - rich - bitch - and - then - convinces - her - she's - his - wife - when - she - gets - amnesia - after - falling - off - her - yacht - and - then - they - really - fall - in - love - and - live - happily - ever - after - because - the - money - was - hers - and - not - her - husband's - and - she - comes- to- realize - that - it's - not - all - about - money - and - she - loves - his - kids.

Let's face it, there's a million movies with that plot, but this one really nails it.

And Kurt Russell's last name is Profitt. See the symbolism there? She has money. He's trying to profit off it, but in the end, he profits off true love. You don't get symbolism like that in crap like, oh, I don't know, Shakespeare or some other dead guy.


2. Scary Movie 2

I like fart jokes. I really do. But the Scary Movie franchise seems to be one long, Wayans-created fart joke. I actually think that all the Wayans Brothers flatulence jokes have manifested themselves into a giant green fart cloud. They've named him Sphincta Wayans and I'm sure we'll see him soon. Hell, he'll probably have his own movie where he goes to live with a stuck-up white family. He'll make jokes about the dad's small penis and the mom's non-existent ass.

Then he'll fart on them all. For 90 straight minutes. And just wait until you see the Unrated DVD. He farts on them all for at least 4 hours.

Stupid white people.




3. She's All That

Usher AND Lil Kim in a movie? Together? Finally my prayers have been answered.

This one is pretty much the epitome of "throw some glasses and paint-stained overalls on a girl and that means she's ugly." It's a common theme, but, dammit, they do it well.

My only real problem with this movie is that Rachael Leigh Cook's character works at a fast food place and has to wear a ridiculous hat with a meatball or pita or breakfast burrito or something on top of it. Does this ever happen in real life? I have never walked into a fast food establishment and seen the guy behind the counter wearing a giant pizza on his head. If I did, I'd probably turn around and walk right out, because if the people who work there are willing to wear a felt hamburger with googley eyes for minimum wage, chances are they have serious mental problems and never wash their hands.

They probably also find Sphincta Wayans rip-roaringly hilarious.




4. PCU



Is it just me, or does Jon Favreau's weight fluctuate dramatically with every movie he's in? He's normal in Swingers. Then ginormous in The Break-up. He's downright gelatinous in this movie, but not really in a fat way. It's more like he's filled with some sort of gas or liquid that caused him to balloon up. When I'm watching this, I half expect a gang of Oompah Loompahs to wheel him off to the juicing room for squeezing while singing a little song.

Oompah Loompah doompa dee dert
This guy is filled with a gas that's inert
Oompah Loompah doompa dee deer
I bet he wishes he had Vince Vaughn's career






5. Drive Me Crazy

How can you not enjoy a movie that features a critic right on the cover who exclaims "Drive Me Crazy rocks!"

Was this reviewer a 13 year-old girl? I can't imagine Ebert giving it two Bratz Dolls up and saying "Adrian Grenier is soooooo dreamy!"

But, if nothing else, this movie features someone who has given me countless hours of entertainment. For 30 minutes a day, I can watch this thespian's entourage get in all kind of situations while they smoke a lot of weed and hang out.

I'm talking, of course, about Melissa Joan Hart in Sabrina, The Teenage Witch. Seriously...a talking cat? She must have been smoking something.

**********

Anybody have any more they can think of? Comment now, or I know a certain omnipresent fart cloud that would love to find another white family to move in with.

You know what really cranks my goat?

You know what really cranks my goat? Complimentary Valet Parking that you're forced to use.

There's nothing more inane than heading out to eat at one of Atlanta's fine culinary establishments, only to pull up and have a valet walk up to my car and tell me that he HAS to valet it. Really? You have to? Well, I don't HAVE to eat there then.

Most times, I try to say "No thank you. I know how to park my own car. In fact, right after cranking it and applying pressure to the gas pedal, slowing down and putting it into park was pretty much one of the first things I learned in that department. So, you know what Johnny ProCarParker, I'm gonna pass on this one. I don't feel like paying you to do something that I'm pretty much an expert at."

"Sir, this is a complimentary service of the restaurant. It is of no charge to you." he replies.

"Yeah. But I have to tip you when I pick it up or you'll go back to your little valet friends and tell them what a dick I was. Even though I didn't want your help to begin with. Same thing goes for your little friend The Bathroom Attendant.

I can wash my own hands. I don't need a hot towel. I don't want to be spritzed with Eau De Anything. And I can certainly wipe my own ass.

MUST. STOP. WATCHING.

I know it’s early, but I’m already getting my boxers in a bunch in anticipation of the greatest holiday tradition of all time. A tradition that makes this season the greatest time of year. A tradition that could quite possibly end world hunger and start world peace. A tradition that I will oversell and use to create false hope for small, hungry Ethiopian children who might be reading this.

Swat away the flies on your faces, kiddies. A Christmas Story Marathon on TNT is coming.

There’s just something about that damn movie that switches off a part of my brain and forces me to lie comatose on the couch in awe. I’m barely able to move except to lift my hand to place junk food in my mouth. Even if it’s just on in the background, there’s something comforting about knowing that I could come in at any time and not miss a beat.

Which got me thinking. What are some other movies that have this strange power over me? They’re almost always embarrassing and are probably something that no heterosexual, adult male should be watching, but dammit, I’m human and I can’t help it. Let’s see what we have.

(Note: These are movies that I only get sucked into on TV and not something that I would willingly insert into my DVD player and watch. That’s why there’s no Billy Madison, Point Break, Road House or Half Baked. I could watch those over and over, but I would do it of my own accord.)

#1 – Grease










Yeah. I know. Here are my testicles. No, just go ahead and take them. Because once this movie comes on, I really have no use for them anyway. In my defense, I think I actually have a genetic predisposition to this movie. There are certain amino acids attached to at least two of my chromosomes that force me to sit down and stare at this movie. I was literally born to hand jive. I could take medicine to suppress it, but, being a devout Scientologist, I think drugs are dumb and evil. Just like that dirty whore, ChaCha DiGregorio.

#2 – Grease 2
















Well, I have no excuse for this one. Seriously, just skip to the next one. In fact, forget I even mentioned it.

Although if you’re ever captured by radical Islamic terrorists and forced to watch this as some sort of hideous torture, check out the song called “Reproduction.” I think it’s about doin’ it, but I'm not sure. It’s so hilariously stupid, that it’s somehow enjoyable. Don’t ask me how. Just listen to lyrics like this, laugh and spit in that dirty Un-American terrorist’s face.

Reproduction, reproduction!
Put your pollen tube to work.
Reproduction, reproduction!
Make my stamen go berserk.
Reproduction!
I don't think they even know what a pistil is!
I got your pistil right here...
Where does the pollen go?

Um, yeah. I’m pretty much going to make “I got your pistil right here.” my new catchphrase. And “Make my stamen go berserk” could easily become my new favorite pick-up line.


#3 – Drumline
















Damn you, Nick Cannon. Why must you be so chocolately awesome? Your drumbeats and cadences hypnotize me into thinking that I absolutely have to watch this movie until the very end. I just can’t miss the surprise appearance by Petey Pablo during the Morris Brown performance at the BET Classic (which is SO totally something that those Morris Brown punks would pull. I hate them so.)

In fact, my love for this movie has pretty much made me decide that I want to attend this year’s BET Classic at the Georgia Dome. I should probably brush up on my Stepping beforehand though, just in case someone tries to call me out for having no rhythm. Then I’d be all like “Oh yeah. Watch this. Hoo-Rah!” (stomp! stomp! step. slide. stomp! jiggy. pivot. slide. stomp!!)

And then they’d be all like “Damn, white boy. You a’ight. You wanna join our squad?”

And I’d be all like “Word? Um, I mean…yeah.”

**********

Anybody have any others they can think of? Or maybe you just want to let me know what a dork I am. Well, I have one thing to say to that…

I got your pistil right here.