Brad and Noelle Got Hitched

That's right, it happened. One, I posted and did not let three months go by. Two, Brad and Noelle got hitched. Now to be fair, they got legally hitched back in January/February. But last weekend, they got ceremonially hitched. And do you know what they did? They held the ceremony at the goddamn zoo. Do you have any idea how fucking cool that is?! They had an opportunity to feed fucking giraffes!! That's right, live giraffes! And man do they have long-ass tongues. I mean, I had read and heard that they did. But holy shit! I learned this first hand, when I was holding a carrot "out of reach". Little did I know that the tall motherfucker would stick his tongue out, reach a foot down, and yank that sumbitch out of my fingers. Not going to lie, he licked me in the process. I gotta tell you, giraffe tongue feels like sandpaper.

Yeah, that's right, I had a derby and a cane. And yes, that's also right, I got glutes that you can bounce a nickel off of. You know it's a good day when your wife takes a picture, comes up to show you said picture, and comments about how you got "dat ass". And for the record, I can help you get "dat ass". It's real easy, if you know what the secret ingredient is. Here's a hint: sweat. It's sweat. Also training. But I digress. That giraffe was awesome, though.

They also had a red panda exhibit. If I were the zoo, I'd have chained the door to the re panda exhibit. It would be remarkably easy to just hop the glass and have a pet panda. And gosh are they adorable. Seriously. When they get angry, they stand on their hind legs and stick their front paws in the air. What they consider an intimidating threat, I consider an invitation for a hug.

The rest of the celebration was pretty tame. They had an open bar. Considering how many times I went back for straight tequila, I'm impressed that I wasn't cut off. The same goes for my wife, and whatever-the-fuck she was drinking. It was orange with red in the bottom. Looked delicious. And based on how quickly we both got plowed, you could tell that we were finally out for a night without the kid. You know what they say, "When the kid goes to Nai-Nai's, the parents get schwasty-facedd. 

Beyond that, the night was generally tame. Noelle commented that she knew Brad was "The One" when she was playing a video game and he brought her soup, and left without saying a word. Romance. And so that's it.

Moral of the Story: Brad and Noelle are hitched, and I imagine that giraffe was a real hit with the ladies, back in high school. Or at least auditioned for KISS. 

Baby Daddy 27: Winning and Losing

First of all, I need to say a special "hello" to Ukraine. I don't know what happened, but y'all lit my shit UP this weekend! Based on some of the referring URLs, I'm guessing I made it onto a Ukrainian porn site. Not sure how that happens, but I guess I'm flattered?  Either way, it is refreshing to see yet another former Soviet Union country reading my shit.

(Yes, this is how I assume Ukrainians read my blog. Fuck you, I don't know how it gets printed in the news.)

Now, onto business. This past weekend was intense. On Friday, after dating for a decade, Noelle and Brad (Game Night  Friends) got married. In true fashion, it was a courthouse marriage. With one being a professed atheist, and another being a true agnostic, it was very entertaining to hear the volunteer Baptist minister talk about the two entering into a marriage blessed by Jesus Christ, and bound by a fear of G-d. Because, you know, Jesus.

In other news, we had a Baby Shower. We had a bunch of people come over, we got a lot of items that were critical, and I drank my lunch and dinner. That's it. It was a great time, but not one with a particular story. Tod-d was there. He gave our baby an airline bottle of Jack Daniel's. He is truly the Drunk Uncle. Drunk Uncle Tod-d.

Then, most importantly, we had the Super Bowl. That's right, sports! Patriots won. I don't rightly care. What I do care about? The wing cook-off. My wife, Ahmed, and I each entered into gladiatorial combat. My wife fixed two flavors of wing. Ahmed fixed two flavors of wing. I fixed one flavor of wing. Everyone was trying to figure out how to name their respective wings. Do you know what I called mine? WINNER!!!! That's right!! I fucking won!! Do you have any idea how goddamn rare and lucky that is?! It's like Godzilla and King Kong going to war, and Tokyo coming out as the fucking champion! Seriously. Ahmed and my wife are both known for being the best cooks in our group. And I fucking won?

Do you want to know my first thought, after the votes were tallied? Hot damn! Do you know what my second thought was? Oh, shit. Why? Because I literally just beat my wife in an area that she is far superior. Not only that, but I beat my preggers wife. And yes, I used the sentence because it is rare that anyone can say they beat their preggers wife and not sound like the biggest shit in the world. And you know what? I was correct. We got home, my wife hugged and congratulated me, and then she immediately asked what type of bullshit I pulled to win the competition.

Of course, the answer was simple. I made American wings. My wife's wings were very distinctly Chinese. Ahmed's wings were very distinctly Mediterranean. My wings were Southwestern. They were salty, spicy, and buttery. Except for one person, the judges were all Americans. They were looking for something hotter. Mine stood out. I actually think my wife's honey glazed wings were the best. Mine were closer to a traditional hot wing. I imagine that, with my flavor pallet, my wife could perfect the spices in my recipe. Until then, I will simply relish in the fact that a busted watch is on point every so often.

Moral of the Story: My wings won, and I am most assuredly going to lose when my wife reads this story.

Fuck You, and Fuck Your Car

So why am I posting twice in one day? Because I was fucked. One story would be too long, and two stories would be too short. So I am giving you one and a half stories. Because fuck you. And by fuck you, I mean fuck Brad. Who is Brad? Brad is Noelle's boyfriend. That is not his real name. And to be fair, I do not know if I have already written stories about Brad or not. If I did, I do not know if I used this alias, or something else. So fuck it. Now Brad has a tag and I don't need to worry about it.

So what is this story about? Well, while several of the Game night Friends and I had a Drunk Onesie Night, Brad was having a drunk night of his own. In fact, he blacked-out. Brad blacked-out at 9:30PM-ish. He also lost his car. We know this because Noelle updated the Game Night Friends that she and Brad were driving around town to find it. Evidently, after Brad blacked out, he decided to drive towards home. We know that he had already blacked out by this time, because he decided to call his mother.

Evidently Brad's mom called Noelle, worried. Brad had willingly called her, and talked for a solid five minutes. That's right. it takes a shit-tonne of alcohol for Brad to become a decent, caring son. We think, at that point, he decided to park his car and walk home. As it turns out, Brad was able to park his car, and then walk approximately 10 miles in freezing conditions. He woke up the next day with a wicked hangover, incredibly sore legs, and no recollection of where he parked.

Now, my wife and I knew exactly where Brad left his car. In fact, it was a 96-97% chance that he had left his car at this particular sushi restaurant. How did we know? Because Drunk Brad would want to sober up, or get food. And this restaurant is one of the only places that would be open late. They would have both tea, and sushi. The fact that this was not Brad and Noelle's first stop was shocking. They spent an entire day searching, and my wife and I found the car in 15 minutes. Being the good friends that we are, we took a selfie next to the car/license plate, and sent it to Brad with the caption "Fuck you, and fuck your car."

Moral of the Story: My wife and I are awesome. Noelle was pissed at Brad. Brad had incredibly sore legs, and may or may not have an issue with alcohol.