I sometimes do things that serve as a painful reminder to my wife that she is, in fact married to a great big girl.
This week she and I decided to get rid of an old futon that had
resided in a spare bedroom in our home. We called the Salvation Army
and made an appointment for them to send out a truck to pick it up.
I thought it would make a lot of sense if we were to move the thing
to the front door so as to minimize the amount of work the movers would
have to do. In my head, the guys would show up at the front door where
they would discover that I, as the strong man that I am, had lifted the
thing and moved it all the way to the front door by myself thereby
doing half of the work for them and they would regard me with respect
and they would nod and grunt in approval.
I've never been comfortable going into a Topless Bar.
Oh they're called different names depending on who or where you are. Nudie Joints, Titty Clubs, Boobie Bars. My favorite is when they are called Gentlemen's Clubs. Whenever I go to a "Gentlemen's Club," the guys that are there could rarely be described as "gentlemen." They're usually guys who've just been paid and have a very practiced leer.
Regardless, I've never felt comfortable going inside one. I always feel bad for the girls that are stripping. I walk in fully clothed and these poor women are prancing around with nary a stitch. It always makes me want to take my clothes off to make them more comfortable. If everyone is naked, no one will feel like they're being stared at, right?
Today I got a call from an old friend that I've known for years. He's leaving this week to move to another city and he wanted to throw himself a going away party. He decided to have the party at the place where he works as a manager.
I am in the middle of an eight-day tour of Alaska and the countryside is not the only thing that looks bleak.
I was fortunate enough to have been invited on a cruise from Vancouver
to Glacier Bay and the Inner Passage. I’ve done comedy on cruises many
times so the only new aspects for me are the locale and the fact that
I’m not working directly for the cruise line.
I have been asked to come along as part of a private party for the
hosts and listeners of a morning radio show in Austin who have decided
to spend their vacation here. This means that I can do whatever I want
at the show and don’t have to worry about offending children or seniors
at the show.
Last week my travels took me to the wilds of Oklahoma, where I performed at an Indian Casino.
I was excited because I had only one show but was to be paid the
same as I would make for performing an entire week at an average comedy
club.
When I pulled up to the casino parking lot, I saw the giant marquis
with my name on it. It was the largest I have ever seen my name
anywhere. I began to feel a bit like a rock star.
I walked into the casino and there were posters everywhere with my
name on them. A staff member recognized me immediately and escorted me
to the show room where I was introduced to the General Manager of the
casino who referred to me as “Mr. Sadler” four times. I counted.
I have become convinced that my cell phone and my cocktails are conspiring against me.
Taken by themselves they are both harmless and even useful. If I
talk to people on the phone while sober, I don’t have any problems. If
I drink and stay off of the phone I’m fine. But whenever the two of
them get together there is always trouble.
It was during one of these accidents recently that I agreed to produce a totally impossible comedy show.
Apparently a friend of mine called me when I was drunk and asked me
to put a comedy show together to be performed at a bar he works at and
I agreed to do it. When he called me back a couple of days later to
confirm the show I was horrified to learn the details of the agreement.
While that may be true, it’s not necessarily a good thing.
When two people are first dating, they tend to put their best feet forward and try to make themselves appear as desirable as possible. This means that they would never do anything as gauche as belching in front of the other person or wiping snot onto their own shirtsleeves.
I haven’t been able to say that for over twenty years.
I was able to get through the first three days with a drug called
Chantix, which inhibits the nicotine receptors in the brain, which
means you go through the withdrawals before you actually quit smoking
so they’re not as severe.
The drug could only do so much, however. About three days in I found
myself in short supply of both Chantix and willpower. It was then that
I discovered the Greatest Anti-Smoking Drug in the World.
Benadryl.
Yep. I popped one of those suckers and washed it down with a beer
and within ten minutes I didn’t want a cigarette anymore. It’s amazing
how much willpower you can muster when you’re completely unconscious
I’ve mentioned before that I’m trying to stop smoking.
I’m trying. I really am. I used to keep an ashtray under my pillow
for when I wake up in the middle of the night for a smoke break. I
don’t do that anymore.
But it turns out that discipline is not readily available to me. I
was able to give up meat, but smoking, drinking vodka and assaulting
postal workers are habits too seductive for me to completely give up.
I’ve found myself with no other options and have turned to
pharmaceuticals to help me. I have begun taking a prescription that
claims to help in smoking cessation. Unfortunately the side effects
make the user want to drink vodka and assault postal workers.
Last weekend the city of Austin, Texas played host to an annual event
known as the Republic of Texas Biker Rally. While locals and annual
participants refer to the rally as “ROT Weekend,” the term “biker
rally” is a bit of a misnomer for what this thing really is.
You see, true bikers are a very specific breed of person. They are
individuals that exist outside of society. They don’t necessarily have
what most people would call a job. Instead they have skill sets that
they use to acquire funds that are usually given to them in the form of
cash, under the table.
They don’t vote or have social security numbers. They have
underworld connections and skin that looks like suede that has been
left out in the rain. Bikers don’t have bank accounts and some look as
though they haven’t showered since the Clinton Administration.
Quirkee Voices 
I sometimes do things that serve as a painful reminder to my wife that she is, in fact married to a great big girl.
