Best Of

With a lot of Facebook friends unaware of the blog and asking to read what will (hopefully) potentially become a published book, I've decided to go into the Year of Joe archives and repost (in chronological order) some of the more popular stories from my crazy lil' life.

Enjoy and thanks for reading!

Happy New Year! (also known as Post #1) (1.01.2007)
The post that started it all.

The Year of Joe (1.04.2007)
Why I started the blog.

Great White Hype (2.02.2007)
The kind of rants I've become accustom to.

Things I Love (2.13.2007)
Looking back, I gotta say I still love each and everyone of them. Maybe "holding hands" less so, but that's just me being Bitter McBitterson.

You Can't Spell "Valentine's Day" without V.D. (2.14.2007)
Man, I am bitter! Of course, by the time you finish reading the excerpts of my life, you'll clearly see why.

The Year of Joe continues! (1.02.2008)
The first of two blogging hiatuses, I catch my readers up on the previous eight months.

A Nickname Timeline (1.28.2008)
The nicknames I've acquired during my lifetime are a little insight into why I am the way I am.

The Void of Not Knowing How (1.29.2008)
I get serious in this post in light of my Grandma being sick. She soon passed on and it changed me as a person, both in respect to my value of family as well as my path towards finding God. Clearly not your typical The Year of Joe kind of post.

29 Dimensions of Compatibility, My Ass! (2.12.2008)
The first eHarmony post! This experienced what I like to call the "eHarmony Chronicles," which gave me waaaay too much material to blog about. These are the experiences that most likely led to my book deal about being an unlucky bachelor.

Save The Date! (2.19.2008)
Just over seven years til I'm married, ladies!

Monday Night Raw (2.25.2008)
This was one of the most fun posts I've ever had the chance to write. A subsequent post should be read as well.

6% success.....or is it 94% failure? (2.29.2008)
I really shoulda got out while I could...

Mr. Strangelove (or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love eHarmony) (3.06.08)
If there is one post to read (well, make that "one series of posts to read"), make it this one. This is the start of the great eHarmony-match-turned-Nigerian-scam. No, really, I'm serious. You won't believe it until you read it (all.) After you read the first post, follow the ten-part series. Read all ten posts, you won't be disappointed, I promise!
Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, Part VII, Part VIII, Part IX and finally Part X.

iPod is Dead and The Call From Hell (3.21.08)
The phone call with an eHarmony match at the end of this post is possibly most readers' favorite The Year of Joe moment ever.

The word of the day is... (3.23.2008)
Maybe my standards are too high and I'm doomed for the single life forever?

Ill Communication (4.09.2008)
Another phone call gone awry.

Date #2: Obama Drama and No Reach-Around (4.17.2008)
How Obama screwed my date up. Another failed date post. I dated some real winners, like the girl who suddenly grew a boyfriend, the horrible liar, the girl who never called back, the gal who smelled like cheese, the birthday girl who thought I was someone else, and, of course, the homeless chick. It's all real people...really messed up this happens to me!

I Love It When You Call Me Big Poppa... (7.08.2008)
The blog address used to be on my Facebook profile and when the ex and I connected on Facebook, she came across the blog. She read it without my knowledge and loved my writing! I think it was my writing, sense of humor and, in particular, this post that I think caused my ex to take interest in me before we started dating. The post still holds true and it's very painful that I'm not any closer to that dream.

* * * * *

Well, there they are peeps. It's a lot to read through but c'mon, I'm a great writer and the material is gold! Hope you laughed and are hungry for more material!

Comes and Goes (In Waves)

Well, I had a bunch of posts all lined up...a funny story about me getting my foot stuck in my tuxedo pants, causing me to fall out of the dressing room half-naked at the Men's Wearhouse, one asking you faithful readers to help me decide what to keep and what to trash when transporting all my belongings from one dwelling to another, how a pitcher on the Padres ended up agreeing to let me take live batting practice before a game sometime this year, an open letter to God asking him how the hell can I write a Best Man's speech about love, marriage and commitment when I thought I knew the answers but now those words seem so foreign. I had a few more up my sleeve, but alas, they are all a moot point.

"Say it ain't so, Joe!", you scream. (Someone has to be screaming that, right?) Well, it is so. Life raised it's cruel head and intervened. A few days ago I had a fainting spell, a few anxiety attacks and what a doctor diagnosed as basically a nervous breakdown, so less of me I think is the way to go for now, which means I'm going to sign-off the blog for a while. I know, I know...I just got back. But then again, it was the return of this blog that led to part of my problems. Although I didn't do any trashing and had nothing but good things (and the best of intentions) to say about the ex (other than the hurt that I was enduring), I felt horribly guilty about blogging about it. It was stupid and pretty crazy and I wish I never had done it.

So there's that guilt that quickly built up. Then there was the break-up itself...ending a relationship with (and basically being shut-out from) the person whom you loved more than anyone else in the world, the person that will always be a part of me, the person that I spent the most amazing time with and the person that I will never, ever regret having those memories forever embedded inside me. I think you can see where I'm going with this. Throw in a few consecutive 60-hour work weeks, stressing over the move to the new apartment, the reality of my two best friends getting married within a month (leaving me as the only unwed guy of the bunch), and well, yeah, it was the perfect storm for me to cave in, emotionally and physically.

Sorry to leave as quickly as I arrived, but it's for the best. With my apologies to Edward R. Murrow...

Good night and good luck,

Joe.

Well, How Can I Forget You, Girl...

...when there is always something there to remind me?


(Sorry, this was the best I could come up with if you wanted to sing along. The actual video on YouTube is un-embeddable, although after watching it, I can see why.)

But really, how am I gonna forget this girl? Seriously, EVERYTHING reminds me of her. And it's the great, happy reasons-why-I-love-her memories ('cuz to be honest, I have no bad memories of her/us.) Here's how my day went:

*Wake up and think to myself "Has the past week-and-a-half all been a bad, horrible dream?" Nope. It's reality. And it sucks.

*Get ready for work and reach for my toothbrush. Oh yeah, I packed it for the move. What's left in the apartment? Her old toothbrush. (I know you're dying to know if I used it: Damn right I did. Does that make me some sicko? Not in a physical kind of sicko just because I'm using something that was in her mouth, but in the mental kind of sicko...I sure hope not.)

*I head to the mailbox because I never made it yesterday. I have three items: Pizza Hut coupons (straight into the recycle bin...SHIT! She was so all about recycling and turned me into a good little green guy...not gonna lie, if there's ANYTHING I take out of the relationship, it was that she made me a better person in so many ways...recycling, converted me into a Brita Believer, got me to wear my seatbelt at all times, became a little bit healthier of an eater, invited me to sign up for my first (and definitely not last) 5K, caused me to love something -- her -- more than anyone should possibly be able to love, etc.) Okay, back to the mailbox. Last two items? The iconic blue Tiffany & Co. April catalog and my tickets to a concert coming up I bought a few weeks ago that I was hoping I could take her to. First off, not that I had (yet) bought anything from Tiffany's for her, but c'mon, what am I supposed to think of? And second, the concert is of two of her favorite artists, so when I go (if I do go), what am I supposed to think of during it? I'll be the guy in the crying in the corner of the Palladium...look for me on "TMZ" or "America's Funniest Videos of Single Men".

*A member at the club whom I haven't seen in almost two months comes up to me and gives me a big hug. She asks how I'm doing and how the ex is doing. (Of course, she has to refer to her as "your beautiful girlfriend"* which felt like a dagger into my right atrium.) Never been one to lie (yet never been one to be totally forthcoming and reveal exactly how I'm feeling), I sheeplishly say "Oh, I'm okay. She's doing really well. Unfortunately we're not together any more." (Dagger twisting...)

*Sidenote: When one of my department heads asked why I was walking around work like a strung-out zombie last week and I told him the bad news, it really didn't help when he tells the next co-worker who walks by all about why I've been so moody at work and goes on to describe the ex as "Oh my God, she was gorgeous. Looked just like Cameron Diaz. And so smart...she was in medical school, right?" Jeez la weez, felt like I had a winning lottery ticket but Deebo rolled up on his bike and snatched it right out of my hand.

*From my office I hear on ESPN Tom Izzo, head coach of the Michigan State men's basketball team, getting interviewed. Relevance, you ask? Oh yeah, her folks are from Michigan. Her dad is probably all excited about the Green and White being in the Final Four. And he's a sports junkie. Woulda loved to have watched a game or two with the guy...

*I make lunch from the kitchen and grab an apple. Just a plain ol' red apple. Pretty sure I've looked at an apple or two in the last two weeks but never thought about anything else until now. What vision runs through my demented mind? Her perfume. Sigh...

*During a trip to the bank, a song comes on that makes me think of her...My sister calls to ask how I'm doing and we talk it out...my wine hook-up at work drops in and asks "Why do you and your lady want to drink next?"...I'm sure a few more things happened that caused me to think about her, but it's been an awful day and I just don't have the fortitude to think back all that hard.

All I want to know is "Does it get easier?"

Run for it Marty!

Being de-friended by the ex-girlfriend on Facebook is just about as painful of a trivial thing you can imagine for us Gen-Xers.

Seeing photos of us vanish one-by-one from my shared album then having her completely cut off from me reminds me what it must have felt like for Marty McFly when his family photo started fading before his very eyes due to the possibility of his (and his siblings') existences coming into question.

My problem is I don't know how to play the guitar or own a DeLorean, so I'm pretty much screwed.

Blame It On The Goose

First time bloggin' via the BlackBerry, so bare with me (and my drunk comprehension of the English language...) (Post-blog posting drunk edit: Jeez la weez, I'm so friggin' anal...I re-read my post and wondered, is it "bare with me" or "bear with me" so I Goggled it...wouldn't ya know, it's "bear," not "bare." I'm leaving it as it for honesty's sake.)

I'm at my favorite San Diego gin joint, Dirty Birds (for all you in the LBC, think Riley's on 2nd Street)...love my boys who run the place (Adam, Johnny O and Leigh.) I headed there after a 13-hour work day and I drowned my sorrows with my Red Sox-brother-from-another-mother bartender, Walsh...three pitchers of Shock Top later and I close out my tab. What do I get in return? A blank receipt. Fucking bastards. Love you guys.

So I'm pretty hammered and I have my fantasy baseball draft tomorrow in the O.C. and I've done jack crap in research and I need to be moved out of my apartment by Sunday and have ZERO items packed...I'm a God damn mess.

If there is any silver lining, I did happen to get into some great text convos with an ex and with my 11th grade prom date (Thanks Anne and Danielle!!)...they said some pretty great stuff to boost my self-esteem. It's too bad I won't remember it in the morning.

Adios, mother f'ers. 'Bout to jump into a cab and see what O.B. has to offer tonight...

(Post-blog posting drunk edit #2: Why, oh why, did Dusty Springfield's "Son of a Preacher Man" have to come on the jukebox?!?!?)

Listen To The Music

Just got back from a great concert in Solana Beach: Justin Nozuka. It was my first time seeing Justin live, but I've been a big fan ever since I discovered his music. In fact, I recommended Justin on this very blog almost exactly a year ago (and again here.)

Ben Harper last night, Nozuka tonight...when I'm down, I like to get lost in good music. Last time I needed a pick-me-up like this, I went to four concerts and caught Travis (in their only '08 US appearance), Ozomatli, The English Beat and Years Around The Sun, all in about a month stretch. I have a few more tickets purchased for a few upcoming concerts (Mat Kearney & Keane, Greg Laswell) so I'm looking forward to some good tunes.

Put A Ring(tone) On It

You wanna know what's embarrassing?

When your BlackBerry rings during a regional General Manager's meeting.

You wanna know what's really embarrassing?

When Beyoncé's "Diva" is your current ringtone on your BlackBerry.

* * * * *

I'm off to LA to catch Ben Harper tonight on a taping for Late Night with Carson Daly. Should be sweet...

I Write Sins, Not Tragedies

Now I'm not going to air out any dirty laundry here...that's not how I roll and it's not fair to those who were involved. Any details will be between me and my future therapist. But to catch all you up since I stopped blogging last year, here's the quick update:

1. Boy re-meets Girl after 15 years apart.
2. Boy digs on Girl.
3. Girl digs on Boy.
4. Girl breaks up with Boyfriend.
5. Boy dates Girl.
6. Boy and Girl fall in love.
7. Ex-Boyfriend haunts Girl.
8. Girl gets feelings for Ex-Boyfriend.
9. Boy freaks out.
10. Boy and Girl break up.
11. Boy and Girl get back together.
12. Ex-Boyfriend still haunts Girl.
13. Girl freaks out.
14. Girl breaks up with Boy.
15. Still in love, Boy freaks out.

Disturbia

What kind of world do we live in in which Chris Brown goes Ike Turner on his girlfriend and she comes back a week later, yet I pour my heart and soul into a relationship and am nothing but supportive and loving and I'm left with nothing*? Answer me that!

Well, there's at least this blog...







*"Nothing" is kinda harsh, if not totally incorrect. I do have about a hundred amazing memories that I'll never forget nor regret. And there's also that ring I partially own...hey, you take the good with the bad, right?

So Not Funny...

I love the irony of my last post before the blog went on a seven-month hiatus.

Oh so cruel...

Gnarls At Their Best

1) This is a great, GREAT song.
2) This video nails it on the head. Big time.

Enjoy. Or not.

Carless: Day 41

So I got a call from the auto body/collision care center where the Joe-Kart is currently receiving care. (Again, I can't stress enough that said chop shop collision care center isn't the Penske Automotive Collision Center located at 7860 Balboa Avenue in San Diego. Most definitely not them...)

The guy I've been working with there, Paul, or as his business card states "Customer Care Representative" -- I'm guessing on Paul's resume you'll also find "Guest Liaison (Guantanamo Bay)" and "Medical Assistant, Colonoscopy Division" -- called me to update me on The Great Honda Resurrection of 2008:

"Yo, Joe, what's up bro? It's Paul from Penske."

(I ain't your bro, bro.) "Oh, hey...what's wrong now?"

(laughs) "Nah, man, just wanted to update you on your car."

"Fire away."

"So we are all done painting."

(What, a replica of the fucking Sistine Chapel on my hood?) "Okay...so I can pick it up?"

"No, now we need to re-assemble. It's a lot of work and we're busy but it should be done pretty soon."

"So tomorrow?"

(laughs) "No, no, no...at least a few more days."

"You do realize that you've had my car for well over a month, right?"

"Yeah man, I apologize about that. I call you when it's ready to pick up, okay bro?"

"I ain't your bro, bro. (Wait did I really just say that instead of my inner-monologue?) But, whatever. Just hurry up."

Click.

I swear to the Lord above there better be one of four results when this is all said and done:

1) Ashton Kutcher/Jamie Kennedy/OJ Simpson and an army of cameramen better pop out of my truck and tell me that I've been Punk'd/X'd/Juiced.

2) My ride's officially been pimped (complete with Xhibit popping my collar.) Seriously, I can't wait to see the astroturf-lined floor board complete with mini-golf flag stick, a six-speed blender that takes up my passenger seat and the 40 12" televison screens installed in every nook and cranny of my Accord.

3) They tell me "Man, we couldn't salvage your car. Please take this as a consolation."


4) I wake up and realize the accident never happened and gas is $1.79 per gallon.

I Love It When You Call Me Big Poppa...

It's 3:27 AM...I've just awoken from a dream and I have to blog this out. It's not so much my dream but the feeling and, dare I say, purpose, that came over me when I awoke:

I want a son.

An heir to my proverbial throne.

My dream, or at least the few seconds of the end of which I remember, involved me in an apartment. Oddly enough, it was apparently my apartment, but just not the one I'm in now. I was living in one of those cool bricked interior-walled apartments. My apartment in my dream -- not to be confused with my 'dream apartment' -- is very minimal, much like my current dwelling. There's a bed, a dresser, a shiny flat-screen TV on the wall...and a crib. In my dream, I walk over to the crib and there are white and pale yellow blankets. I pull them up, exposing a sleeping baby. I pick the baby up...apparently it's mine. He's still sleeping as I rock him back and forth gently. I keep whispering to him "I love you, I'm going to take care of you" and the baby just keeps his eyes closed but is smiling, obviously in the middle of a great dream, much like the one I'm in.

I put the baby down back in the crib, whisper "I love you" and kiss it on the forehead. The baby makes a "da-da" sound and that's when I woke up.

Maybe this isn't something too abnormal for a single, almost-thirty-year-old male who wants to settle down and start a family to experience. I dunno. It was a weird dream, but I liked it.

Any takers?

Roger's No Dodger

A-friggin'-mazing!

I'm no tennis fan, but I am a complete sports nut, so I watch all the big events for almost any sport. I watch the Triple Crown horse races. I watch Daytona and Indy. Hell, I'm even currently watching the coverage of the Tour de France on Versus every night. And when it comes to tennis, I always watch the Grand Slam finals, especially the French Open and most of all, Wimbledon.

I badly wanted to watch the entire match between Federer and Nadal but work beckoned. When I was finally able to pull myself away from the computer, paperwork and phones, Federer was down two sets to none. I watched almost every serve and volley from that point on and damn it if I wasn't lucky enough to see perhaps the greatest Grand Slam final in tennis history.

Unfortunately, my boy Federer couldn't pull it out and Nadal finally edged his rival on the grass court. During the match, as I was rooting for the Swiss, my boy Aaron tells me that me rooting for Federer "makes absolutely zero sense" because, as Aaron knows, I'm a big time Kobe Bryant and Tiger Woods hater. He figured I would hate the dominate Federer as well, but alas, I told him I was anything but a Federer hater.

Before you yell racism, I think I know why I hate the best in the game Kobe and Tiger but cheer on Federer (and by the way, as much as I hate Kobe and Tiger, I respect them and admit they are the tops of their sport): Before Kobe came onto the screen, I was a HUGE Michael Jordan fan. Before Tiger came onto the scene, I was a HUGE Phil Mickelson fan. When Federer came onto the scene, I didn't really have a favorite tennis player. I think that's why I'm on the Federer bandwagon but not a follower of #24 and Eldrick.