Our Fan-niversary

Our Fan-niversary

It has always been my belief that couples should not consider themselves official until they’ve endured at least one entire NFL season (two if you’re a Redskins fan because November and December don’t count). Well, as of Sunday around 10:30pm, Jen and I became an official couple. This is great news, mostly for her. Because now it means that football season is over and I have to take down all my Eagles blankets and banners and bar stools (no I don’t, but I wish I did). But it also means that we’ve endured the toughest stretch that a relationship can go through. Though being snowed in with each other for 6 straight days is proving to be an unexpectedly grueling challenge.

It didn’t always look like we were going to get here either. We started dating around playoff time last year (early January) but things didn’t get serious until I moved in sometime around draft day (mid-April). I know. I work fast. I warned her then but I don’t think she understood the magnitude of my addiction. There were some hiccups around August when pre-season games started popping up on the TV and fantasy drafts took up a couple weekends. But then the real season started. I don’t know that I saw her for the first four weeks.

See, I’m a Philly fan and before any of you say anything, I did not personally electrocute any dogs – so cut that shit out. Living down here in Redskin territory means that I have to leave the house to watch the game. I was out of the house so many Sundays in a row, Jen thought I had found religion. And that’s not an unfair parallel to draw. I would get dressed and attend every mass every Sunday afternoon at Our Lady of the NFL. We pray to the Holy Roller, the Music City Miracle and the Immaculate Reception, Amen.

And every Sunday, we had the same conversation. “I’m out at the bar… Because the game’s on… No, it’s not on at home... Yes, I know we get 8,000 channels, it’s not on any of them… No I can’t… Because there’s a game on after that and another one after that. I told you all this shit back in April – you said you’d be cool!” 17 weeks and I think we had a similar conversation at least 13 times and she was in the Ghaza Strip for 3 weeks.

Then she’d ask why we couldn’t do anything Monday if the Phillies already played. And yes, she called them the Phillies more than once. And guys, why do we have to watch the Monday Night games, even when it’s Cleveland and Oakland? Because we have Zach Miller on our fantasy team and we still need 8 points to win our matchup. That was the part that almost got the locks changed.

But we shot the gauntlet and made it through. So many other couples have failed. Not us. But it wasn’t easy. Getting grilled on politics and religion by her father the day we met was a cakewalk compared to these last 5 months. So congrats to us. Now that we’ve officially made it, she’s saying something about a ring. I assume she was talking about the Superbowl. I know. She’s great.

Oh, and ladies. If you’re one of those gals who thinks that your relationship is fine because your boyfriend doesn’t like football, well then he’s gay. And isn’t this a shitty way to find out.


Still Standing Right Here...

QOTD credits: Kevin Hershey – (Fanniversary, see comments below)

Romance By Numbers & The Statistical Probability Model

Romance By Numbers

For those of you who believe in romance and would like to continue to be fooled, please stop reading this now. I have some soberingly tragic news about what relationships actually are. A relationship is an understood contract between two people who are hopefully looking for what they claim to be looking for. There is not someone for everyone, things are not meant to be. These are fairy tales told to children, not unlike Santa Claus and Cinderella. I’ll admit that it’s fun to visit Oz every once in a while, but eventually you’re going to wake up to find the cowardly lion was really just Uncle Zeke. This is not to say happiness is not possible, but please don’t count on fate to steer your life raft. As dry a pill as it can be to swallow sometimes, there is another edge on the sword of free will. It would be so easy not to be responsible for your actions, but you will end up where you end up as a direct result of your choices. Relationships are no exception.

So once you can accept that there is not one person for everyone, what can we say of relationships? Does love actually exist? Actually, love is a separate problem altogether. Love has no meaning. It is a word we throw around in songs and bedspeak to make our relationship partner feel better about the contract. It means something different to everyone and cannot be measured from one person to the next and often times, not even from one instance to the next and can therefore not be described. Coincidentally, much like pain. The same people that tell me there is someone for everyone also like to say that when you are in love, you’ll know it. Well, I’ve known it about 3 or 4 times now. So that theory is bullshit. Same thing with Ouija Boards, by the way. But don’t worry; all hope is not lost yet. (to be continued)

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The Statistical Probability Model

(continued from 8/3/08) That’s where the “Statistical Probability Model” comes into play. There are a finite number of people on earth. Assuming there is not one person for everyone while still living under the unfortunate constraints of monogamy, we are looking for one of these people. For sake of simplicity, I will eliminate one entire gender from the dating pool. There goes half of them. There are also age restrictions and under very conservative, yet legal parameters, that will probably eliminate about 75% of the one gender. Also, for the sake of argument, we’re not trying to break up any marriages, happy or otherwise, or live the life of the sordid affair. That will probably take out at least half of the remainder. We’ve just very conservatively narrowed our focus to 6% of the population.

Now there are certain deal breakers that everyone has. No smokers, no diseases, no fatties, no Republicans, etc. There go about 65-90%, depending on one’s standards. Then there are categories of high importance, such as religious affiliation, children and the willingness to perform certain sexual acts. These are closely followed by categories of less importance, such as hair color, preferred room temperature and the willingness to perform other sexual acts. While none of these are deal-breakers to some people, a companion must earn a certain number of compatibility points in order to qualify for the contract. Each individual can decide on his or her own what the minimum number is and how much weight is given to which categories, but there is a number, whether we write it down on paper or just do it on the abstract abacus of compromise in our heads. This will probably eliminate about 80-95% of whoever the heck is left. This leaves us with approximately 0.156% of the world’s population. Thankfully the world has a lot of people. However, you will not meet all of them. So we apply that percentage to our geographical area, which depending on size, may not be statistically significant enough to apply these numbers without serious revision. Still, you will be compatible enough to have a relationship with one person for every 640 that you meet.

That’s still not too bad. You can certainly meet 640 people in a little over a year’s time. Now the trick is to meet them, get to know them well enough to realize that they’ve fit into your statistical probability model, hope they’re not seeing anybody else, and cross your fingers like hell that you fit into their model and that they realize it too. I don’t have odds prepared to discuss these percentages.

So this is sadly what relationships really are. There is no meant to be, there is not one person for everyone. Romance is dead. Love is a set of formulas carefully calculated on an excel spreadsheet. But there is still a chance for happiness. And on a long enough timeline, even the cynical heartless creator of this formula will find his 1 in 640. And when I do, I am convinced that I will tell myself that this is all bullshit and this girl is the girl that was destined for me from the beginning of time and fate brought us together. Again.

Playing the odds,

Busted Nuts.


Still Standing Right Here…


QOTD credits: Joe Titlow – (The Statistical Probability Model)

Rico Gawky

Rico Gawky

I'm really exhausted, but this was too funny to let go another day. Of all the stupid things I've ever said to a girl I was interested in, this is probably in the top ten. Not quite the top five, let's remember some of my other lines ("Who the fuck are you" comes to mind). But before I get into it, I need to go over a few of my theories.

Now I shouldn't let some of you women behind the curtain, but you would also be a fool to let my theories of relationships make you consider things any more seriously than your average Quantum Leap episode. These theories have to do with exceptionally attractive women. See first of all, guys like myself and Tom have been raised to believe that all attractive women are snobs. All apologies, but that's the shit you learn in high school when you run cross country and work in the video lab. So if they show any sort of interest in you, odds are that they are interested in you or at least want something from you. This is why it's exceptionally difficult to accept that an overly attractive girl that comes up to talk to you just wants to be your friend. For the record, this sounds really idiotic now that I reread it, but I didn't really expect too much out of it anyway.

Counteracting this theory is the "low self-esteem corollary." If one of these subjects happens to actually be interested in myself (or Tom), it can be quite intimidating and odds are against any sort of cooperation on our end. At least, this is my reaction. So when a somewhat unmistakable pick-up line came out of her mouth, jokingly or not (something like "so, do you have any more room in your little black book?"), my reply was something to the effect of "I don't do very well with extremely attractive women." And I didn't really recover either. Some people think that it was kinda cute. Maybe if I had thought of something to say after that other than "OK, I gotta go." But most laugh in my face. Certainly not my worst work, but I think I'm putting it on the back burner until I can think of something to use it in tandem with. And I also think I've proved the statement correct unintentionally. This is why I'm sticking with the chicks that don't think they're pretty. Whether they're right or not (that's just wrong, dawg).

So Keith D (the non-roommate Keith, as I call him when I have the time), suggested that I photocopy a page from my little black book (which hasn't had a new phone number put in it since I got my cell phone 3 years ago) and circle a blank spot in it and give it to her. This is certainly the funniest approach, but I don't think funny is necessarily the direction I want to head. So he gave me some other ideas like handing her a note saying "do you like me?" with two boxes saying "yes" and "no..."

Quote of the Day 12/13/04

"It's so old, it's kind of original again."

-Keith D


I think I'll choose funny over stupid. But I'm afraid I'm doomed to stupid anyway.

Flailing my limbs in the ocean of predictability,

D Wreck.


Still Standing Right Here...