The Fix Is In, Birthday Sex, and BGR

Like the previous weekend, I spent most of last weekend watching the NCAA tournament. Watching this weekend I learned two things: I really hate Florida and I think somebody (CBS or the NCAA) is influencing the refs.

Let me rephrase that. I don’t hate Florida the team or the college. I like their coach Billy Donavon. I like Corey Brewer, Taurean Green and Lee Humphrey. I love their cheerleaders (in my bed still wearing their outfits, just no panties). But I can’t stand watching Joahkim Noah and Al Horford. Noah claps like a girl every time he gets fouled and goes to the line. He’s a vastly overrated player (2nd team All-American?) on a very good team. I had about enough of him after Florida won the SEC title and I had to both watch him do some fucked up dance moves on the sideline and hear how absolutely ghetto he was during the post game interview. Al Horford has this look on his face like the refs are on crack every time he’s whistled for a foul or moves his pivot foot. Just because you’re going to be drafted in the top ten of this year’s draft doesn’t mean you can get away with every travel and hack. That is unless you’re absolutely murdering some vastly undersized player on a vastly less talented team.

With two and a half minutes left on the clock in the Butler game, Horford got the ball eight feet from the basket. Horford, 6’10” and 245 lbs, posted up Brandon Crone, 6’6” and 225 lbs. Not once, not twice, but four times Horford backed Crone down to the lane, throwing all his weight back while Crone tried unsuccessfully to hold his ground. Each time Crone would plant his feet in a good defensive position only to be pushed backwards two feet, right in front of the official. On the fourth push Crone fell to the ground, desperately tried to swipe at the ball and was called for a foul while Horford made the shot and the ensuing free throw. The score of the game at the time: 54-54. Horford put Florida up by three and the Bulldogs weren’t able to recover after that. Painfully bad officiating. At the four minute break I think CBS buzzed the refs indicating it was time to put Butler out of the game. I mean, you can’t have the number one team lose to a number five and ruin your ratings for Sunday, right?

And then there is Vanderbilt. Who? That’s what the CBS reps were asking when the Commodores took a one point lead over Georgetown with nineteen seconds left. Vanderbilt, a small private school with an enrollment of 6,000, had no business being in this game, let alone winning by one. On Georgetown’s final possession Jeff Green, another likely top draft pick this summer, obviously traveled and banked in the winning shot. Getting Georgetown past Vanderbilt and “helping” North Carolina in the second half against USC set up a great Georgetown/UNC match up for Sunday evening. And it was a great game, going into overtime with Georgetown pulling out the win, but the game never should have happened in the first place. Now don’t get me wrong here, I have Georgetown as the runner up in my bracket (losing to, gulp, Kansas). I just felt the officials favored the big boys over the little guys.

In other non-basketball related news:

My aspirations of having sex with someone new by the time my birthday rolls around has been fulfilled! (I can hear you all clapping and cheering, thank you, thank you very much!) Unfortunately it wasn’t exactly with someone new but more like with something new. The Renter had been bugging me about going out to dinner or doing something lame for my birthday and I don’t like stuff like that. I don’t take people out for dinner on their birthdays and I don’t expect them to on mine. Oh, and even worse, I guess it’s customary that the “women of the bar” buy a cake when an individual’s birthday comes around. You sure as hell know I won’t be at the bar either the night before the day or on the day just in case someone has something like this planned. I don’t want the attention and I certainly don’t want the cake. On other people’s birthdays I usually toss the plate in the garbage when no one is looking. I can’t stand the frosting and all that. Or I take it home with me and use it in the bedroom with a fine lass (or myself, whichever is available). If I was in charge of birthdays everyone would be eating beef jerky, the hot peppered kind that makes my head sweat (I’m a pussy).

Anyway, so the Renter and the neighborhood Queen went to the porn shop on Friday. She said there were a ton of people in there at 12:00 at night (I think her exact words were, “It’s midnight, look at all these pervs!”). Our Queen was browsing in the men’s section (as in men on men, not like the men’s section at Boston Store); the Renter was in the straight department. After a little while the Queen joined the Renter in the straight section. “I thought you didn’t like this kind of stuff?” To which the Queen replied, “I was getting hard in the gay area but this is making it go away.” The Renter picked out this freaking huge vibrator that required four D-cells. It looked like one of those mini baseball bats they give out to the first 5,000 fans on opening day. Sunday night I was lying in bed and I heard this loud VRRRRRR, VRRRRRR. I started laughing right away knowing what it was. I guess she must have thought I was sleeping or something.

Along with the vibrator she picked up four DVDs. When I got home from visiting the parents on Saturday she had them stacked up on my bed with a bottle of lube wishing me a happy birthday. And let me tell you, the broad has taste.

On Sunday we washed our cars as it had to have been 70 degrees outside. When we were done I checked to see what time the first game was supposed to start. I looked at the clock and realized we had forty minutes till game time. I (he, he) forced the Renter to lift weights with me in the basement. She’s been bugging me to get her in shape and, after getting a whiff of her when I stood too close, I think she finally applied herself in the workout. After the workout she desperately needed to take a shower so I took advantage of a little “alone” time. I was very impressed with the first DVD I popped in the player. Well, I think I’d be impressed with anything that had Vivid on the cover (probably the best label out there). And to make a long story short, I had very hot (imaginative) sexual intercourse with a tall leggy blond who I’d just met five minutes earlier (on the TV). The birthday goal has been achieved! But please, I beg you, don’t cancel that stripper that performs extra “favors” if you already have her lined up.

Later that day, in between games, we popped in one of the other videos. Apparently the Renter had mistakenly picked out one that just had women in it. I’ll be straight with you here: I really don’t enjoy going down on a woman (who does?). Sure, I’ve done it in the past, but after one too many bad experiences I just don’t do it anymore. I fast forward regular porn when the guy makes his mandatory trip down there. While all the women were very attractive, having all three of them licking each other and sucking vaginal juices made me feel a little queasy after I had just put down two chicken leg/thigh combos. And I know it isn’t just me. I caught the Renter having to look away at some parts where they would push the lips away exposing what looked like a raw steak. Oh, and I learned another lesson: women don’t know what the fuck to do with a strap-on. If any of those women had ever complained about a man being bad in bed they should rewind the tape and look closer at their performance. You’d think the producers would put them through some kind of training session or something.

Other than that the weekend was pretty quiet. I was a little bit under the weather on Friday and Saturday. Saturday morning I got a text message from the FA; his wife popped out a baby girl! Congratulations to both of you!

And for BGR, you are officially the first baby announcement on this blog! Just think, in years to come when you can read and write, probably when I’m dead and gone, your online legacy beginning will still be right here for everyone to view. Now that’s something to be proud of (your mom and dad might not think so right now but when I’m dead and my work is selling for ten times the face value of $.01 it will mean much, much more). Too bad your parents couldn’t think of a name that wound up being PBR (Pabts Blue Ribbon), but that’s partly my fault as I forgot to mention the possible initials. For that I will forever be sorry. But I’ll make it up to you right now. Someday ask Daddy what he does on the toilet when Mommy is away. (Funny what you learn about a person when you’re waiting for a flight and you’re jacked up on Duncan Donuts and coffee.)