Why Must We Always Drink?

 

I’m not a big drinker.  At the same time, there are occasions when I do get busy.

Lately, I seem to be having trouble understanding why, after we turn 21, every function we attend seems to be fundamentally based on consuming alcohol (more often than not, excessively).

I don’t want it to get confused---I DO PARTY. 

I’m not the conservative guy who never touches the sauce and looks down on people who do.  For instance, as I am writing this l have three full bottles of vodka in my freezer (no roommates; no girlfriend; I never have people over).  Further, last Saturday night was my friend’s birthday.   I wore a cowboy hat out for no reason at all (other than simply to party as my alter ego, “Toddy Chesney”), took nine shots of vodka at the bar, told jokes all night, laughed endlessly, had to be taxied to a Denny’s for late night cuisine with the birthday girl, crushed an entire appetizer sampler, noticed a gorgeous Spanish girl at the table next to us, paid the bill, and on my way out of the restaurant I walked up to the beautiful Spanish girl’s table and delivered a very embarrassing speech about wanting to take her out on a date in front of nine people.  And Sunday morning, I woke up still a bit pissed. 

[SIDEBAR:   I just remembered that after my vodker shots I capped my night off by ordering a can of TaB and toting it around the bar as a joke.  No one laughed.

 (yes, somehow the bar had cans of TaB on chill).]

So as you can see, I truly do get after it on occasion (about four times a year).

Sometimes, I go straight up “Lindsay Lohan” in the club (about once a year).

But lately, I have been questioning why every event I attend is booze-centric.

I don’t mind a cocktail here and there, but why do we ALWAYS have to drink to tolerate hanging out with other people---especially when the “other people” are our friends?

People are always saying that they “don’t need to drink to have fun.”  If so, why do those same people seem to be drinking at 100% of the parties we mutually attend?

Again, why after we turn 21 does getting wasted seem to be the theme of every single get-together?

Do we all hate our lives so much that we have to get hyper-trashed for the pure escape of it?  Do we become socially inept in our older age?  At what point did drinking to have a good time become drinking to simply coexist with others?  Does asking all of these rhetorical questions make me seem too “Carrie Bradshaw?”

Think about it, have you ever in your life attended a party (thrown by people who actually DO drink) where no one broke out some sort of drank?

 Could you do it?

Would you do it?

Would you attend a party this weekend at a friend’s house if you knew ahead of time that there would be zero hooch?  If so, would you stay longer than 45 minutes?

It’s bizarre to me that we somehow lose the ability to soberly talk, laugh and have fun with other people after we turn 21.  Well, maybe we don’t lose it, we just never go back to trying it because everywhere we go alcohol just always seems to be near (like TMZ).

One of the best birthdays I ever had was when a friend of mine from out of town came to visit.  We went downtown to a decadent Italian restaurant and then to a club to see one of our favorite DJs.  Neither of us had a drink the entire night and yet massive amounts of fun were had.  The next day, we both remembered how delicious the food was, every song the DJ played, every joke each of us told, and how/why/where each picture was taken.  It was a legendary night out---and we were both stone sober.

I feel like no one wants to be sober anymore-and this idea makes a part of me really sad.

--- --- --- --- --- --- ---

Another thing that interests me is how so many people seem to associate having fun with getting belligerent-and ONLY with getting belligerent.   When friends visit us from out of town, we too often seem to mark those occasions with binge drinking-as if there is some sort of correlation between the amount of alcohol your group consumes and the amount you care for each other.  I on the other hand, view this type of behavior as somewhat insulting. 

If you really enjoyed someone’s company, I would think you could stay completely sober with them and remain entertained throughout.  Is this not what true friends are?  When I meet up with people I rarely get to see, I want to be sober so we can talk and listen and remember everything the next day.

Getting super “Hazeyville” is for those nights when you get set up on a blind double date and your date is a train wreck.  I have trouble seeing why people treat those dreadful instances with the same behavior as when best friends visit or turn a year older.

--- --- --- --- --- --- ---

One last thing:  Can we all agree to stop drinking too much? 

If you are 28 years old, this probably means you have been drinking for anywhere between seven and 13 years.  Can you freaking learn how alcohol affects you and adjust accordingly?  If you know you get angry and yell and kick and scream and fight when you get drunk, then maybe be a responsible adult and cut yourself off after three or four drinks---so the rest of us at your birthday party don’t have to:

1 - listen to you awkwardly curse out your friends

AND

2 - help you up every time you fall down whilst attempting to execute menial tasks (such as standing). 

I am beyond over pleading with grown-ass adults to stop drinking because everyone but them appears to know they have had too much and the Fun-O-Meter is dropping exponentially in ten-second intervals.

I am pleased to announce that I am a very fun drunk.  The only real differences are I talk a bit louder and a bit more frequently.  That’s it (I am always likely to dance, so nothing really changes on that front as my Blood Alcohol Level increases).  Unfortunately, we are not all so joyous when intoxicated.

How do you act when you are slizzard?

Do you even know?

You should, because you have been getting drunk twice a month for a decade.  If you have no idea what you are like when you are twasted then maybe you should start paying a touch more attention (now that you’re 34).

Getting super stupid and assuming a “babysitter” was kind of cute when you were 19. 

These days, I hate you. 

Have your drinks, have your fun, just be a f_cking professional and cut yourself off at the appropriate time so you don’t ruin everyone else’s night.  I don’t know why, after years of experience, people remain incapable of this.  But inevitably, someone gets “teenage drunk” and makes me feel like the adult at the Junior High dance.  Figuring your B.A.L. is simple arithmetic.  If you can count to five, you can learn to cut yourself off before you get start to get obnoxious. 

Stop with the excuses.  You’re grown as shit.

If you still claim it “must have hit me all at once,” then I want to karate chop your Adam’s Apple.

Of course it didn’t “hit you all at once.”  Alcohol has (and will always have) a cumulative effect.  We would all love to be tipsy four seconds after our first sip, but it doesn’t work that way.  Set a number and stick to it---regardless of whether or not you are feeling affected when you reach that number (I am so embarrassed to be explaining this right now).

Though I wish it were true when you say you are “never drinking again,” it’s not.  You will drink again-so spare us all the melodramatic cliches.

I work hard all week and look forward to enjoying my nights out.  If I wanted to spend that time babysitting I would have knocked up one of the skanks I used to court.  Stop making it all about you.  Instead of thinking about how drunk you are going to get this weekend, maybe think about making a conscious effort not to ruin your friend’s R&R time with your Sorority Girl/Frat Guy agenda.

I just want people to be honest with me from now on.  If it’s what you plan to do, then explain verbatim in your call/text/Evite that you are trying to get a group of people together Saturday night to watch you “go out, get blackout drunk, start a fight with one or more of your friends (and possibly a group of strangers), fall down, scrape your knee(s), ruin your outfit, cry, lose your camera, make out with someone you should not (and consequently forever ruin the social dynamic of your workplace, our group of friends or both), forget to pay your tab, leave your credit card at the bar, scream about losing your cell phone for a hour when it is in your purse (or pocket) the whole time, get us all thrown out of the bar, attract the attention of the police, puke, cry again, and have a hangover for nearly two days that I will have to listen to you complain about incessantly.  See, if you would do this I would know where your head was at in advance-and then be able to make a fully-informed decision about whether or not to attend the catastrophe.

[SIDEBAR:  I have always associated cameras with females.  It was only recently that I realized I make this association because most females I know seem to go dumb super early-and count on the photographic evidence to piece together the previous night (A la “The Hangover”).]

You know those times when your friends decide to stay in rather than meet the rest of the group out and you text them back something to the effect that they are being “lame?”  Right.  It’s not that your friends are lame, it’s just that they want to enjoy their relaxation time and they know that when they hang out with amateurs like you, things go straight to shit.  They know they’ll end up babysitting without the $10/hour to show for it at the end of the night.

Drinking is for adults.  It’s time for you children to either grow up or surrender your red cups.

Oh, and I hate all of you.

Uggghhh…I need a drink,

-The Todd

[Editor’s note:  Speaking of excessive drinking (and promoting ahead here), I will be back in Las Vegas March 25-28^th for my brother’s 21^st birthday extravaganza (i.e. “Vegas, Pt. 3”).  Those of you familiar with this blog know what this means.  Stay tuned.]

Right Back Where We Started From.

 

A few years ago, I heard what I thought was a bizarre story about a football player who drank human breast milk ever day.  He explained that it was beneficial to his body because it contained numerous fatty acids and whatnots that proved to be great supplements to his diet and strength training.  Together, the combination helped keep his body where it needed to be to take the physical beating given to an NFL running back. 

Are you disgusted?  Of course you are, but only because this idea is not yet the norm.  Just because something is NOT traditional does NOT mean that it is wrong.  Moreover, just because something IS traditionally done DOES NOT mean it is right. 

Here I go again, questioning conventional wisdom.

It’s weird to imagine a grown man slurping human hooter juice like a 3-month old, but when you really stop and think about it, why is it so strange?

First, we drink the stuff as children anyway. 

Second, human milk does not need to be Pasteurized like the livestock version that most of the world uses. 

Third, it is better for you. 

Nineteenth, it’s not from freaking livestock.

Lately, I have been passing this idea around to a few of my friends (okay, both of my friends) and it has been met with the usual resistance.  It is absolutely hilarious to me that people scoff at the idea of consuming human breast milk as adults.  Meanwhile, those very same scoffers drink cups full of fluid squeezed from an ugly, smelly, grass-grazing beast that someone arbitrarily chose as our milk source decades ago.

So, why a cow? 

What is so appetizing about siphoning solution from the veiny flesh bag that hangs from a grazing beast-which lies in its own waste and lets fruit flies eats its nose? 

    

If I told you I drink monkey milk (if one could actually milk a monkey), you would probably grimace and then go on to explain how peculiar drinking milk from a strange animal seems to you.  Would it really be any more disgusting than chugging cow sauce? 

Again, why cows?  Who chose this?  Who approved it?  I was not involved in this decision making process, so I do not accept it. 

When I speak to people about this new idea, I think they are put off by it mostly because it makes them think of chugging from their mom’s boobs.  Now, I am not suggesting that we all go back to the source where we each got our breast milk in our younger days, or that we go about receiving a serving the same way we did as infants.  I think people would have issues with the winner of the Indianapolis 500 jumping out of his car and taking a huge pull from his mom’s left breast, but I think there is something to this whole “human milk source” idea. 

Granted, the idea of women milking themselves into a jar so it could be packaged with a “Toddy Farms” sticker and placed in the dairy aisle at your local grocery would be somewhat strange initially; but I think if the money was right, women would oblige (goodbye unemployment rate). 

I already see this becoming the new Hollywood/Whole Foods grocery store craze.  I might just go ahead and open the country’s first woman milking operation.  Lord knows I have the experience in my background (Midwestern guy with a respectable batting average-and whose grandfather raised cows).

To be honest, it wouldn’t take much to get this idea implemented.  I mean, some women already refer to each other as “heifer” and “cow” anyway.  It makes so much sense now. 

Currently, we break milk types down into classes by way of fat content.  With human milk, we would need to do something similar. 

You might have guessed-I came up with a little something.

Below, you will find the updated nomenclature and conversion chart for my proposed move to human milk.    

Fat Free = Jessica Alba

Low Fat = Angelina Jolie

2% = Tyra Banks

Vitamin D = Beyonce

(Bitch milk is probably sounding a little more appetizing after reading those names, isn’t it?  It’s all about marketing, people.  And it just so happens that I am a marketing genius.  I mean, can you imagine the packaging possibilities?  And to think, they have been using a boring carton this whole time.)

Now that I am thinking about it, Louie Pasteur (who invented the process of “Pasteurization,” which is heating milk to reduce the number of its harmful micro-organisms-making it less likely to cause disease in the humans who drink it) was in one of my History books in elementary school.  We actually spent part of a school day talking about him.  My teacher spoke about Mr. Pasteur like some great American hero. 

F that. 

I think “Sweet Lou” was a coked out of his gourd (Cows?  Really, Lou?).

I want to be celebrated in classrooms nationwide.  Teachers should brainwash elementary school students with propaganda about how I am a visionary.  I know I deserve it more than Louie Pasteur. 

I am seriously jacked about this idea.  I plan to commence job shadowing Lactation nurses at local hospitals in order to advance my research.  Hey, somebody has to do the due diligence.  How else will we find the answers?  Edison goofed off in his garage with copper filament and I will be at local hospitals juggling bosom.  It’s all science.

I know this whole thing sounds crazy at this stage, but that is just because it is not the norm yet (imagine how crazy it sounded when Louis Pasteur first asked people if they would drink cow squirt).  In 50 years, they will be talking about how I was the visionary at the forefront of all of this.    

I feel like this idea is going to win me yet another Nobel Peace Prize (the other being for my Vasectomy piece).  At the very least, I know I am getting PETA’s vote. Geez, that’s two NPP’s that I should have coming my way now.  When the first one arrives, I am going to celebrate with a nice tall glass of woman.

Honestly, wouldn’t you rather pour some Jessica Alba into your morning cereal?

I know.

You’re welcome people.

-Todd (AKA “The Milk Man”)

[Scoring opportunity:  I am not stoked about the term “wilk,” so I need some name ideas for this product.  The same goes double for “Todd-steurization” (the term for the act of milking a woman and processing said milk for commercial consumption).  If you have any ideas for either, post up.]

2009 Final Scoreboard.

The reader point totals from my 2009 posts have finally been tabulated.

And the winner is...

Jenna & Jackson.


This is how it all broke down:

1 - Jenna & Jackson = 35 points

2 - lindynicole = 25 points

3 – christina = 19 points

4 - trina = 16 points

5 - Frank = 15 points

6 - The Carter Posse = 11 points

T7 - Lynda M. = 10 points

T7 - J Bear = 10 points

8 – cindy e = 6 points

9 – LL Steezy = 1 point

Jenna & Jackson, your loyal readership is greatly appreciated. To prove it, I will allow you to pick a prize from the following:

1 – ShamWow

2 – Snuggie (in the print of your choice. Zebra?)

3 – Shake Weight


Send me an email at WordsByTodd@Gmail.com with your prize of choice and mailing address and I will make it happen.

I would like to take this time to thank everyone for reading, commenting, and forwarding my site to your friends and family. The blog gets bigger every week and it is because of “yinz guys.” Let’s keep it going.

I would also like to thank the consultants over at Ernst & Young for their accounting expertise and their efforts in this matter.

As of right now, the scoreboard has been set back to all zeros. Stay tuned in for all of the 2010 posts for your chance to score big.

The first scoring opportunity of this year is to give me ideas for the 2010 grand prize. As of right now, I am leaning toward a package containing a Boyz N The Hood DVD and a “Compton” hat.

Please post your ideas.

And we’re off…


You’re welcome,

-The Todd

Online Dating.

One of my best friends has been begging me (literally, begging) for four years to let her sign me up for online dating.  Each time, after I finish shaking her vigorously, I explain to her (yet again) that I am not interested.  Even though I have explained my reasons why to her numerous times, she asks me why each time anyway.

Here’s why.

Before we get started here, I want to say that I still feel like online dating has a negative stigma and I think it’s a shame.  Everyone that scoffs at people who met online (or are attempting to) need to realize that there is no shame in internet dating.  It’s for smart people who enjoy efficiency.  And, I feel like it will be how the majority of dating gets down over the next 20 years.

Now, in the interest of full disclosure, I would like to submit that I think online dating actually makes more sense to me than any other sort of dating.  I have a very scientific brain, so I find the idea of preemptively submitting critical search criteria very appealing.  It seems like this would solve many compatibility issues before wasting precious time and money on tricks-ass bitches that would eventually complain incessantly about how I do not measure up to all of the boxes on their extensive “Perfect Guy” checklists.

But, there are problems.  Problems with me, problems with others and problems with the online dating system.

First, I do not even desire a girlfriend.  I’m not a “Himbo,” it’s just that I have no real interest in being in a relationship at this stage of my life.  I have plenty of friends to take to movies and dinners.  There would be advantages (like not being automatically relegated to the couch when me and all of my married siblings return home for the holidays), but presently the thought of any and all advantages does not seem to outweigh how much I cherish the freedom to go anywhere and do anything with anyone at any time. 

For this whole idea to work I would need some sort of uber-exclusive “Why Are You Still Single?” dating site where the only people that are allowed to enroll are all attractive, educated, sweet, kind, friendly, emotionally-balanced, fun women whose friends have no idea how they could possibly still be single.  The only thing I have seen close to this is that TV show where millionaires pay a service to be set up with young bimbos.  I am not wealthy, and I do not seek a cliché piece of arm candy (I still have some hair on my head).

Second, I have no interest in paying for the service.  Why would I pay a service to find me a girlfriend when I am indifferent about girlfriends?  It seriously gets expensive.  Dating a girl is usually costly for the first couple of months because you are always going out to spend time together-since meeting up at someone’s apartment to watch movies in your sweatpants is a somewhat uncomfortable thought for two people whom have only recently met.  It takes a month or two of dating before you can begin with the honest portion of the relationship and tell a girl that you need to curb your spending because you have dreams of someday purchasing a house (in Los Angeles, for that matter).  Now, if I was paying for the internet service and consequently taking SEVERAL women on two months worth of first dates apiece, that would be astronomically expensive.  Financially, I just can’t make the numbers work.  Blame Microsoft Excel.

My chick friend that wants to sign me up for this stuff always tells me that she will “handle everything.”  She is of course speaking about all of the sign-up nonsense.  Yes, I hate answering 40-page questionnaires and creating usernames and passwords more than anyone in the world, but writing is what I do.  Putting together a funny bio page about myself would be the most enjoyable aspect of the entire online dating experience.  So, since I sincerely doubt that I will ever be dating online anytime soon, I figured I would show everyone what my bio page would look like if I were to ever get involved.

Screen Name:  GayForClooney8592.

Quote:  “Life’s a dance; you learn as you go…”

 (Cheesy Country music quote that makes me seem wholesome.  All the while, I yearn to keep shit thorough with a gutter-ass quote from Tupac, or something trashy about “feeling yummy head to toe” from Gwen Stefani)

Sex:  Male.

Ethnicity:  Caucasian.

Age:  28

Location:  North Hollywood, CA

Height:  6’1”

Weight: 155 lbs.

Body Type:  Slim.  Some might call me “Skinny.”  I lean more toward “Athletic” or “Marathoner.”  Fine, I look like Lance Armstrong.  There, I said it.  Either way, I’m sexy.  Dead.

Hair:  Blondish.

Eyes:  Brown.

Relationship Status:  Single.

Seeking:  Females 25-35.

Marital Background:  Not a chance in shit.

Have Kids:  Should not be allowed in public until they are 12.  And even then, if they start acting crazy people who are not their parents should be able to strike them in their respective windpipes.

Want Kids:  Just practicing.  I need reps.

Religion:  Football.

Smoke:  That’s a deal-breaker.

Drink:  Like it’s for a grade.  Belvedere on the rocks, no straw, no fruit wedge.  Keep them coming every seven minutes until I pass out…then every 10 minutes after that.

About me:  I’m a manic-depressive with an on-again, off-again Mt. Dew addiction.  So, occasionally you’ll have the pleasure of seeing me on a manically-depressed sugar-high---which is, if nothing else, an entertaining train wreck that is difficult to look away from.

And those are the good days.

 It’s the days when I’m off Mt. Dew and having manic-depressive sugar-deprivation come down symptoms that things really get dicey.

I am kind of a romantic though, I suppose.  I guess the best way to describe me would be “Ro-manic-depressive.”

I do adventurous things from time to time (hiking, kayaking, Buffalo Wild Wings), but let’s be real---most of my time is spent in my apartment trying to convince myself to get out of bed.   And on those rare occasions that I make it out of bed, I spend nearly all of my time listening to records.  All day.  And night.  And often times into the next morning.

As you might guess, I am an on-again, off-again DJ.  I thought I would throw that in here because women seem to find it attractive for some reason.  The upside is I could fill 2,000 of your iPods with hotness (maybe the one selling point in this article).

If you couldn’t tell, I need alone time.  A lot of it.  I am socially bi-polar.  Sometimes I am the life of the party that pops “shamp,” dances his balls off, tells jokes and makes everyone laugh-and sometimes I sit alone in my dimly lit apartment and stare at the wall.

What really bothers me about dating is that I hate acting proper so women will find me suitable.  I mean, yes, I respect you, but why act like I’m not mostly just interested in finding a reliable dinner date and steady, disease-free sex?  A couple of years ago, I gave up acting the way I know girls want me to on dates.  These days, I keeps it f-cking really real---so as to NOT waste each other’s time.  I have to think that women would appreciate that more than someone who is being disingenuous.

My ideal first date would be wearing a sweatsuit to a quiet wine bar where the two or three (heh, heh) of us could talk quietly and hopefully enjoy a Jazz or Soul soundtrack (that would eventually turn Hip-Hop and evolve into Dubstep and then finally, Electro).  I would attempt to be funny and it would work.  At the end, we would split the check right down the middle (or three ways) and she (they) would be okay with it.  Not just say she (they) was (were) okay with it, but would actually be okay with it.  I hate when women make an offer just to test us so they appear to be kind, then proceed to go home and complain to their friends about how a guy actually allowed them to pay for their halves.  My time and company are worth just as much as any woman’s.  If you want to date this (and I’m certain you do not), bring your debit card. 

I don’t pay for dates.  Ever.

Check that, I do pay for dates---my half.

It is important that women know that they are not so special that they deserve to have their every want paid for.  It seems arrogant to me that any person would think a total stranger should pay for every penny of every activity during a date (or an entire relationship for that matter).  Further, it makes me feel like I’m hiring a prostitute when I rent a lady for an evening.  I will never again put a girl on scholarship.  Ever.  How else would I know that she didn’t just agree to see me every weekend for some free food and alcohol?  If you really enjoy my company, you won’t have any problem paying your way.

Marriage is the same as dating to me.  Breaking up is the same thing to me as getting divorced.  Feelings are more real to me than binding social contracts, so I do need any paperwork to tell me how I feel about someone. 

I will never marry, but I would like to eventually have one person to spend the majority of my time with (for however long that may be).  Not because I want to grow old with someone or any of the other clichés, but mostly because I get tired of telling new girls the same information about me-only to break things off a few weeks later and repeat myself yet again to the next one (this is where my online dating profile could really do some of the initial heavy lifting for me). 

I probably won’t commit to you.  I’m not a cheater or a herder, I simply cherish my freedom.  And also, I’m a realist-and we all know that we eventually run out of things to say to people we are dating, so I have no delusions about finding someone eternally engaging.  I do hate working, so I suppose I might marry for money.  Truthfully, I would give careful consideration to even marrying an ugly bitch that was turbo-annoying if her family was wealthy to the point that the marriage meant I could retire effective immediately.  I most certainly subscribe to the idea of money buying happiness.  Well, mine at least.

If I had my pick of all of the women in the world, I’m not sure I wouldn’t pass on them all and just chill by myself.  I’m not going to be easy to wrangle into a relationship.

Looking for:  A lady.  Average looking.  Sweet.  Not just sweet, but the sweetest.  I just like sweet girls that want to be agreeable, have fun and laugh a lot.  I hate bitchy bitches with “Pretty Girl Attitudes” who think they can act stupid and be inconsiderate of other people’s feelings just because they are used to getting a free pass due to their looks.  And, I cannot handle women who thrive on controversy and try to turn everything into a fight.  The high highs and low lows those women bring are too exhausting for me to keep up with.  I suppose, if she did not have a pretty girl attitude, that I might entertain the possibility of dating a gorgeous woman, I just really wouldn’t prefer it. 

If you tell people that you are “dating,” but are actually interviewing every guy you meet for the position of “Husband” please do not contact me.  You bitches scare me.

[SIDEBAR:  I don’t know what ever happened to dating.  Why is it always about finding someone to spend eternity with?  I don’t ever want to get married, but I still like having dinner and intelligent conversations with interesting people.  I can’t be the only one that feels this way.]

I put up with absolutely zero bullshit. 

Show me jealously and I will show you one choice finger-and then turn said finger sideways to point you in the direction of the exit. 

Exhibit drama and I will crank The Heisman in your collarbone region.

As you can plainly see, any and all candidates need to be secure and “Diet Drama.” 

Oh, and I want my concubine to be funny.  She doesn’t have to be “stand-up comedian” funny, but someone who gets the funny in every situation and likes to laugh.  I need her to understand my dry, sarcastic, oft-hateful humor.  I would even be open to the idea of her piggy-backing off of my comedy and adding to it in a sort of tandem attack.  That being said, I will not be overshadowed.  I’m the funny guy.  It’s my thing.  It’s really all I have.  I would need to be Michael Jackson, while she would ideally be Tito (or even Marlon).

After reading all of that which appears above-you might find it impossible to believe that I’m confident nearly anyone who has ever met me would most likely co-sign me as a “good guy.”  Or, that I constantly get the “I can’t believe you’re still single” speech from my bitch friends.  Or, that I’m actually average-looking.  It’s interesting, really.

If for some sick, twisted reason you find enough of the above appealing to the point that you are interested in what will most likely be a failed attempt at a first date, feel free to email me at WordsByTodd@Gmail.com.  Maybe this way we can circumvent the online dating system entirely and spend that money on a date.

Okay E-Harmony, let’s see you find a match for that.

Seriously, I dare you bitches to date this.

You’re welcome,

-The Todd

[Editor’s Note:  In doing research for the layout of this article, I logged onto Match.com to see how to construct an online dating profile.  The first profile I clicked on was of a P.Y.T. in Sherman Oaks, CA with the screen name “Fashionista8592.”  Ironically, I read her profile and really wanted to take her out on a date.  Very random.  And it feels like it has the makings of a screenplay.  Fashionista8592, if you are reading this, hit me on the hip.]

Audio Muffin #5.

Are you missing me?

I figured as much.

I suggest you get on over to Audio Muffin and check my post for today.

As if the witty banter were not enough, I'm also giving away free mp3s over there, too.


You're welcome,

-The Todd