The following is a chronicle of my last hours as a bachelor:

August 28, 2008

8:26 PM - I open up a Notepad text doc and start my journey into my last hours as a single man.  So far, nothing exciting has happened.

9:14 PM - I am eat BBQ chicken wings from Primavera and watching the DNC.  The wings are good.  The DNC?  Whatever.

9:58 PM -  I watch all the Democrats blow each other as Obama gets ready to speak.

11:04 PM - I finish Barrack Obama’s speech.  Very, very impressed.

August 29, 2008

12:01 AM - I have been watching coverage of the DNC, and am beginning to like Obama.  I think McCain really needs to step up his

game.  Right now, I really like Obama and Biden.

12:48 AM - Sitting at the computer.  Reading various blogs while listening to Ice Cube.

12:49 AM - Just realized that my last bit of time as a bachelor is pretty uneventful.

1:44 AM - Wow.  I have surfed YouTube for long enough tonight to actually get dumber.  Now I know how those RIDICULOUS comments end up on that site.  All the comments have likely been made by people who spent hours and hours looking at videos.  LOL

2:18 AM - Going to bed to watch Family Guy and go to sleep.  WOOOOOOO!!!!  PARTAAAAAAAYYYYY!!!!

10:37 AM - Just got out of the shower.  Game plan:  Go pick up Meggie’s ring, go over to Meggie’s place.  Get my hair did.  Get a new suit.  Get in touch with my mom.  Call the priest.

12:10 PM - Get my hair did by Meggie’s best friend, Keith.  He is a hair sculptor, and I become an Adonis.

12:30 PM - As I am getting my haircut, I finalize plans with Father Mcraw to have my mother sign a swon affidavit that I was baptized.  He offers me the opportunity to partake in confession.  I realize my “sins” could amount to a book that would make the Pope blush and gracefully declined his offer.

1:00 PM - My hair is done.  I realiez I have more gray hairs than I originally thought I had.  I decided it may be a good idea to try and grow more.

1:45 PM - I leave Meggie’s place for Kohl’s.  Time to buy a new suit, son!

2:30 PM - Meggie and Keith meet up with me at Kohl’s and help me pick out a classy looking suit.

3:30 PM - I am surprised I was only at Kohl’s for an hour.  We leave and go to Best Buy so Meggie can say hi to all of her friends.  I let her do that and look at the video games - like an adult.

4:00 PM - I head over to the mall to pick up groomsmen gifts from Things Remembered.

4:20 PM - Just feet away from Things Remembered I get accosted by some lady selling some sort of beauty product at a kiosk.  The lady is foreign.  The lady is the most aggressive salesperson I have ever meant.  She literally grabs my hand and pulls me over to her kiosk and isnsits that I buy her goddamed manicure products.  I decide not to yell at the lady and tell her that in the U.S. we have given up the concept of street bazaars and haggling and that her business approach is stupid.  I am able to eventually free myself from her iron grip and make my way into Things Remembered.

4:37 PM - I leave Things Remembered with my groomsmen gifts.  I sneak past the foreign lady with the iron grip.

4:50 PM - I arrive at St. Mary’s of the Immaculate Conception Catholic Church to meet with my atheist mom and the priest.  My mom and the priest go to his office so that she can swear before God that I was baptized and am not in fact a demon spawn.  I imagine that she is actually brought to a dark, 8 by 8 empty room with an overhead light and a single metal chair.  I imagine that she is interrogated by the priest.  This of course may have happened, but I wouldn’t know because I had to wait in the lobby.

5:35 PM - I leave the church grounds.

6:00 PM - I meet up with Brandon for a crazy night of partying.

6:10 PM - Brandon and I run back to Things Remembered so I can pick up a gift for Meggie.  We listen to Ice Cube on the way, and I pretend I am hardcore.

6:30 PM - Brandon and I go to Fuddrucker’s and get gigantic hamburgers.  The cashier doesn’t like my t-shirt with Jerry Falwell in a Coffin that says “Dick in a Box.”  I take all the Pico de Gallo from the condiments section.  I am hard-fucking-core.

7:00 PM - Brandon and I finish our food.  We leave and go to Starbucks.  Brandon gets some coffee, and I get a supremely manly Venti Carmel Frappucino with whipped cream.  The girl at Starbucks likes my Jerry Falwell shirt.  Brandon and I sit down at Starbucks like bad-asses and discuss how ridiculous religion is and how awesome Seals and Croft are.

7:30 PM - Brandon and I go to the movies and buy our tickets for Tropic Thunder.

9:50 PM - Tropic Thunder was fucking hilarious.

10:15 PM - I arrive back at the apartment, take Rowdy outside for a poop and a piss. 

10:20 PM - Brandon and I chat is up with Amy.  I reflect on my dancing skills and homo/hetero orgies.  And retards.  I refelcet on retards (because they can’t reflect for themselves.

10:50 PM - Hard Motherfucking Core.  I decide it would be good to get some pet food and cat litter.

11:25 PM - I buy a shit-load of food and cat litter.  I joke about how expensive animal food is and how eating my pets may be a good idea.  The cashier doesn’t get jokes.

August 30, 2008

12:20 AM - Brandon, Carmen and I continue a night of hardcore partying by watching The Lost Boys and eating cookies.  I binge on Diet Coke.

2:30 AM - Brandon and Carmen leave.  I go to bed.  WOOOOOOO!!!!  PARTAAAAAY!

10:30 AM - I wake up and start getting ready for my wedding.

I’m back in a Rap/Hip-Hop mood.  It comes and goes.

Today, as I hip-hopped it up to some sweet West Coast Gangsta Rap, I was once again reminded of this:

I.Am.Getting.Old.

The following series of events is 180% true and is not in any way exaggerated.

I was getting into the new Ice Cube album, Raw Footage, this afternoon.  I was sitting at my desk being gangsta — throwing the West Coast gang sign, mouthing the chorus to “Gangsta Rap Made Me Do It,” and writing a report for a multi-million dollar healthcare organization — when one of our recently hired employees came into my office.  Robyn is 19 years old, and when she stepped into my office to ask if she could borrow the hardcore gangsta book, Good Omens, she noticed my street-wise fortitude and ability to represent a concise report. She was immediatey awe-struck with my gangsta…um…ness that she was too awe-struck to inquire further into the book.

“Yo! Yo! Yo!, what’s up Robyn,” I asked in a hard-edge tone — but not too intense since Robyn is practically a minor, and I didn’t feel like scaring her.  “I’m listening to the new Ice Cube album.  It fu-. It effing rules.”

“Who’s that?”  Robyn seemed confused.

Seriously?  SERIOUSLY?

“You don’t know who Ice Cube is?  You know, Ice Cube from N.W.A?”  I went ahead and pushed pause on my iPod because Cube had just called someone a “mothafucka,” and I didn’t want to be responsible for corrupting the youth.  That’s The Hills’ job.

“Nope.  I’ve never heard of them.  Wait…We learned about ice cubes and the freezing point for H2O in physics class the other day.”

“No, Robyn.  Wrong Ice Cube.”  I gave a good raspy old-man chuckle and made sure my dentures were in place before continuing.  “You see Robyn, back in my day, there was a rap group called N.W.A., which stood for ‘[African Americans] With Attitude.’  They rapped about shooting people and being awesome.”  Robyn giggled.  It was like last Christmas when she got that brand new Cabbage Patch Kid, except this was Christmas for her ears, and the gift was crude knowledge.

“Nope.  I don’t know who Mr. Cube is.  I like Miley Cyrus and still think the world is good.”  Actually, all she said was “nope,” but I’m sure she likes Miley Cyrus and believes the world isn’t a filthy mud ball of hate and idiocy.

“Huh.  Uuuum.”  It seemed my Alzheimer’s was kicking in, and I briefly forgot where I was going with this.  “Oh yeah.  Well, you little whipper-snapper, Ice Cube, Eazy-E, MC Ren and Dr. Dre…”

“Oooo-ooooH!  I know who Dr. Dre is.  He’s famous.  I can’t listen to his music though because mom and dad say he talks about pre-marital sex and marijuana cigarettes.”

“Yes, Robyn.”  As you can tell, continuity played no part in this absolutely TRUE scenario, and I was no longer acting gangsta at all.  In fact, I had aged about 50 years.  “That is what Dr. Dre does.  He makes whoopee with bad girls and smokes marijuana cigarettes.  Here’s a little secret you can tell your buddies at the roller skating rink, though.  Dr. Dre isn’t really a doctor.”

“Neato!  I can’t wait to share this with my pals.  Do you like The Jonas Brothers?”

“No, Robyn.  The Jonas Brothers are fags.”

Pleased that Robyn at least knew who Dr. Dre was, I calmed down a bit.  I went ahead and closed up the bottle of heart medication my physician gives me for my stress.  “Go run along now, Robyn.  Go play hop-scotch with your little friends.” 

Again, continuity plays no part in this absolutely factual account.  So, when Robyn left, I settled back into my rocking chair and flattened out the blanket on my lap.  I was amazed by how the years had past me.  I looked at the liver-spots on my hands and reminisced on VHS and cassette tapes.  “That little kid had just been born when N.W.A. released ‘Straight Outta Compton.’”  An old man tear of joy streamed down my cheek.

Then I died.*

———-

* At which point, Carl The Retard came and gobbled up my corpse.

WHICH ONE OF THESE DOGS IS NOT MY DOG, ROWDY?*

Is this Rowdy?

Or is this Rowdy?

Maybe this is Rowdy…

When we first got Rowdy, we were told that he was an Australian Shepherd and Chow mix. I could see the Aussie part, but I could not see the Chow part. Besides, Rowdimus Megatron didn’t have the black tongue that is almost a staple of Chows. I used to have two Rottweilers, and the way Rowdy sits is very much like Rottweilers — clumsily balanced on one side, legs both pointing out in the opposite direction. He also has the markings of a Rottweiler on his face. However, he still has that shaggy, “hair metal” fur common in Australian Shepherds. I kept insisting that Rowdy is half Rottie, half Aussie, all awesome, and now I am sure he is.

Today, my pal Ryan did a Google search for “Rottweiler Australian Shepherd mix,” and this is what we were led to :

Eli is 16 months to 2 years old, a male Australian shepherd/Rottweiler mix; he weighs 45 pounds and is neutered. He has no health issues and is absolutely adorable. All he wants is attention. He had the choice of attention or food…he chose attention. WILL YOU HELP ELI??? Eli needs a forever home; please help him.**

CLICK THIS TO SEE AND TO SEE WHICH ONE IS NOT ROWDY

That’s Rowdy’s doppelganger, goddammit! I knew it. With the exception of Eli’s cropped tail, it’s almost a perfect match. Eli even has the same GIANT tree trunk front legs and *teeny* back legs that Rowdy has.

Rowdy is an AUSWIELLER!

——

*Yes, I am posting something about my dog. No David follies or retard jokes (i.e. David follies) in this post. Sheesh.

**By the way, I omitted some of the adoption contact info from this, mainly because I don’t feel right publishing other people’s numbers and e-mail addresses (business or personal) on my site. You’re a smart person. If you really want to, YOU can find this info.

For Meggie’s bridal shower, I was asked to woo her and the attending ladies with my razor-sharp wit and brilliant…um…question-asking skills.  I went ahead and made up the most important quiz she and her gal pals will ever take.  Now, for the first time EVER, you ladies (Yes, I am so manly, all my readers, regardless of gender are girls by comparisson) can partake in the quiz. See how well you do, genius. The answers are at the end, chief.

Thank you for taking the time to participate in this brief (but extremely important) survey.  The following questions will test you knowledge on all things David.  Try not to stress out.  These questions (while more important than world peace) should be easy for you.  To make it easier, they are multiple choice.  BUT…make sure to listen to all of the options.  The following test was put together with the assistance of the guy who invented the SAT.  That makes them tricky at times.  Take care.  Godspeed or something.

1. Why does David have a PERFECTLY-shaped head?
a. Because his head is part egg.
b. Because Michael Phelps DOES NOT have a perfectly shaped head.
c. Because David was born c-section.
d. David does not have a perfectly-shaped head. His head is bumpy and lopsided (but good at growing hair).

2. According to David’s mother, since the day he was born he…
a. …has been destined for greatness
b. …has not shut up.
c. …has wanted to a ballerina.
d. …has smelled like falafel.

3. David was born on
a. On Labor Day (get it?)
b. On October 23, 1980
c. On a Dark and Stormy Night
d. On September 14, 1979

4. David speaks the following languages.
a. English
b. Spanish
c. Gibberish
d. All of the above (and then some)

5. David was born in:
a. Phoenix, AZ
b. Tucson, AZ
c. Los Angeles, CA
d. Istanbul, Turkey

6. David drives what kind of car?
a. A 1999 Hyundai Accent
b. A 2000 Hyundai Accent
c. A horse and buggy
d. A 199 (BC) Hyundai Elantra

7. David wants Meggie to watch which movie?
a. The Fly (1986 version)
b. The Fly (1986 version)
c. The Fly (1986 version)
d. The Fly (1986 version)

8. David believes he should have a moustache because…
a. Moustaches are every man’s God-given (and Constitutional) right.
b. Moustaches command respect.
c. Moustaches are ridiculous.
d. All of the above.
e. Both a. and c.

9. David’s favorite Mario Kart character is
a. Bowser
b. Dry Bones
c. Birdo
d. Koopa Troopa

10. David gave his and Meggie’s dog, Rowdy, the following full name:
a. Rowdimus “The Dog” Garcia
b. Sir Rowdimus Megatron Damian “The Mean Machine” Voldemort Dexter Garcia, Esquire
c. Rowdimus Sunshine Bambi Flowers Garcia
d. Phil

11. David Can’t live without:
a. His MTV
b. Oxygen
c. Meggie
d. Rabies
e. b and c

12. The car David wants more than any car in the world
a. Rocket ship
b. El Camino
c. 1957 Chevy
d. Camaro

13. Condiment David cannot stand
a. tomatoes
b. lettuce
c. pickles
d. dirt
e. Both c and d

14. Food items David has NOT eaten:
a. Insects (live and dead)
b. Kim Chee
c. Blood sausage
d. Meggie’s freakin’ Snickers bar

15. The person who David adores:
a. Meggie

1.: c, 2.: b., 3.: d., 4.:d., 5.: b., 6.: a., 7.:b., 8.: e., 9.: b., 10,: b., 11.: e., 12.: b., 13.: e., 14.: d., 15.: a.

Hate kids and clowns alike?  Then this is the essay for you.  It is probably the funniest (and most depraved) essay we have written so far.  It’s like we ripped out your funny bone and tickled it while simultaneously gnawing on it.

HUZZAAAAAAAAH!

THIS KID’S BIRTHDAY PARTY IS RETARDED

In less then one week, I will be a happily married man. This is great for several reasons. Firstly, I love Meggie. Secondly, in marrying Meggie, I will have someone to call me on my idiocy.

This evening, I went over to 7-Eleven to get a pack of cigarettes and some Iced Tea. It was stupid of me to drive because I have yet to get my new tags and don’t really need another ticket.

Anyways, as I was walking in, the store clerk (who weighs about 400 lbs. and who I am sure is mildly retarded and/or smokes an ounce of weed before work each night) greets me, chuckles and says, “Nice shirt.” I completely forgot I was wearing this garment:

Yeah, that’s one of my “indoors t-shirts.”

Kick me, I’m clueless.

- David C. Garcia

So, word seems to have gotten out to everyone I know about my challenge to LAND RACE Michael Phelps.  Go ahead and catch up:

Michael Phelps, You Think You Are So Cool

Your Move, Michael Phelps

For some reason, they think Michael “The Merman” Phelps is going to somehow annihilate me in said LAND RACE.

Mental preparation is equally important as physical preparation for the LAND RACE, so the other day, I was doing some mental calisthenics by playing The Sims: Castaway on my PSP and watching Countdown with Keith Olberman.  In my comfy pants.  Meggie walked in and asked why I was being such a lazy bitch.  I politely informed Meggie that I was training and that just because Michael “I Don’t Even Know What Dry Land Is” Phelps gives her a million girl boners doesn’t mean that she has to rub her lust for him in my face.  I told her that when the LAND RACE was done, she would see who the real man is.*

Word has also spread around my office about the LAND RACE.  If you read the comments on my last posts, you will see that almost every person has made some sort of comment suggesting that Michael “I Swim Around Like a Little Goldfish” Phelps would utterly destroy me in a LAND RACE.  I don’t get it.  I work with educated people — people with college degrees and a fair amount of cynicism.  These are supposed to be my allies.  Nonetheless, these are the people who are suggesting that Phelps, who would be nothing more than a streamlined sponge on land, would be able to run faster than me.

My best friend, Brandon, has even taken Michael “How Do I Keep My Hair Looking So Good in that Swimmer’s Cap” Phelps’ side.  I have repeatedly called Brandon “fag,” hoping to break his spirit, but he continues to insist Michael “Oh I Had to Bring My Mommy to the Olympics with Me” Phelps would leave me in a cloud of dust in a LAND RACE. **

So, if it is so obvious that Michael “I Think I Am So Cool Because I Have the Lung Capacity of a Whale” Phelps would beat me in a LAND RACE, why has he not responded?  My personal assistant, Jess Glass, specifically posed my challenge to Phelps via his “Ask Michael” section on his website.

Every time I bring this up, someone has to say something smart like, “Oh, he’s busy winning a million gold medals,” or “He’s redefining what it is to be an Olympian,” or “He’s in China swimming and finding the cure for AIDS — at the same time.”  Ridiculous.  I have been equally, if not more busy, than Michael “The Land Virgin”*** Phelps.  Not only do I work at a full time job, but (as previously noted), I train daily and have time to self-promote.

Michael Phelps.  I am calling you out once more.  I, David C. Garcia, challenge you, Michael “Don’t I look So Good In this Speedo” Phelps to a LAND RACE.  I know you live in Maryland.  I’m just a stone’s throw (or a coral’s throw, in your case) down the road.  LAND RACE.  Fredericksburg, VA.  Be there, Michael, or are you too Chicken (Of the Sea)?

——
* Obviously, the real man would be me because I will win the LAND RACE, not Michael Phelps.  Just wanted to clear that up.
** There will be no dust to leave me in.  The race will take place on the landiest of land: concrete.
*** Meaning he is a virgin to land, not that he is someone on land who is a virgin.

Matt Murphy just brought this movie to my attention.  I MUST see it.  Aside from what the preview offers, I have no idea what this movie is about.  Nevertheless, I am giving it and A+.  I don’t know Japanese, and I don’t even need subtitles.  The movie’s visuals will be just fine:

It’s no secret that when I was indulging in the sauce, I had my fair share of run-ins with the law.  I used to hate driving because I was drunk almost anytime I sat in the driver’s seat.  I spent more time looking into my rearview mirror than ahead of me.

After I got sober and got my driver’s license back, I had this indescribable feeling of freedom when I would hit the road.  I would pass cops and instinctively go on mental defensive.  Then I would remember, “I’m sober.  I’m not doing anything wrong.  The only thing I’m guilty of is being awesome.”

About two or three months after drying out, I went through a sobriety check point.  It was great.  I pulled up to the check point, and when the officer asked how much I had been drinking, I got to truthfully say, “I don’t drink officer.”  It was the first time in years that I had been 100% truthful to a cop.  It felt great.

I remember telling friends that I actually wanted to be pulled over at some point.  I wanted to know what it felt like to have a cop behind me and not have to worry about what I was going to say or how I should act.

Last night, I was the lucky winner of such a traffic stop.  Meggie and I were driving back to Fredericksburg.  I turned onto the Falmouth Bridge, and the next thing I knew, there were the blue lights in my rear-view.  I raced to think why I was being pulled over.  Meggie went through a list of reasons:  “Are your tail lights out?”  “Did you get your new tags?”  Shit.  I had completely forgotten to update my registration last month.

I pulled off the road.  The cop asked me if I knew why I was being pulled over, and I told him I just realized that I had forgotten to update my tags.  It felt good to once again speak honestly to the cop.

The cop had a bit of a prickish attitude, but he wasn’t that bad.  He gave me my ticket and wished me well.  I wanted to tell him I liked his moustache and that I wanted one, but I wasn’t sure if that cop liked jokes.

It felt good not freaking out.

- David C. Garcia

As the handful of you who read my blog know, I have been dealing with more Catholic shit in the past several months than the demons inside me find tolerable.  Here are some of the “greatest hits”:

Natural Family Planning Interruptus

The Catholic Church, Tattoos and Sex

This weekend, Meggie and I attended the Arlington Diocese-mandated Conference for the Engaged.  Waking up at 6:00 AM was enough of a “fuck you,” but having to sit through seven-and-a-half hours of rambling and mind-numbing idiocy pretty much squashed any chances that I will ever EVER think about joining the church.  Meggie can go to church on Sundays if she wants.  I’ll stay at home and have pleasant Agnostic dreams.

One thing I forgot to do was install the odometer into my forehead so that after the conference I could see how many miles I put on my eyeballs.  No joke, I can honestly say that nearly every sentence spewed from the mouths of those people warranted a serious eye roll.

Generally, I find anything ANYONE says to be suspect if they cannot back it up with any sort of proof.  I am just like that.  It irritates the hell out of Meggie that I always have to have supporting evidence when someone says something.  So when the priest and self-righteous speakers at the conference started spewing all sorts of “statistics” and “facts” backed by their dogmatic faith, I went crazy.  Prefacing half of their statements with “Statistically this” and “Statistically that” drove me nuts.  At one point, Meggie stopped playing the videogame on her cell phone to stop me from rifling through the course paperwork desperately trying to find source material for these Catholics’ “facts.”

And yes, Meggie was playing videogames.  I myself was reading Chuck Klosterman’s Sex, Drugs and Cocoa Puffs (a VERY funny book, by the way) and doing my best to block out rants on why birth control, pornography and homosexuality are horrible things.  During one of the breaks, Meggie and I discussed how weird it was that she and I were the only people (out of like 100) who had absolutely no interest in being there.  Not kidding, almost everyone in there was entranced by what these jokers were saying.  It was eerie and cult-like.  I don’t think I personally know anyone who could be so fascinated by that garbage.  Okay, maybe there a few imaginary people in my head who are fascinated by that sort of nonsense.  I’m going to go ahead and move them over to live with the imaginary Grizzly Bear.  Good luck, douchebags.

Much of my personality has been molded out of Beavis and Butthead.  This may be why I am a complete and utter jackass obsessed with fart jokes and references to genitalia.  If you spent a fraction of the amount of time I have watching that show, you would have picked up on the faces Beavis and Butthead make when they are completely horrified by something:

That’s the face I made when this middle-aged lady started tell us about her amazing sex life with her husband.  She told us her friends often ask her how she and her husband have maintained such a healthy sex life.  I certainly did not solicit the secret, but she told us about it anyways.  She said that before she and her spouse engage in the “marital act” (yes, this is what she called doing it), they both drop to their knees and pray to God for 30 seconds, thanking Him for the sloppy old people sex they are about to have.  Who does that?  She also told us that it gets her so hot when her husband tells her that he doesn’t want her to take birth control.  BLEEGGGGHHH!

I am so glad this thing is over.  At one point during this ordeal, I told Meggie that if there was ever any doubt that I loved her, me actually sitting through this so she could have a Catholic wedding should have killed that notion.

Now I’m going to go read pro-birth control and pro-pornography websites.

- David C. Garcia