SHAKE WEIGHT!!!!!!!.... Now That I Have Your Attention....

Shingles? On my face? NOOO!!!!!! I know your thinking, "Yake, you have like the most flawless like complexion like ever!!!!!!" Then you added like a hundred emoticons and they were all like- :D :D :) :) and some of em were winking and stuff ;) Now I know I just turned you into a 13 year old girl, and I apologize for that, but we have serious things to worry about- I have shingles.

      And it's not really as cool as it sounds. It's mostly just swelling, redness, and liquid filled blisters accompanied by aching and random sharp pains, and of course the potential for permanant eye damage (we're talking retina scratching here folks), due to the close proxemity of my disgusting rash to my right eye. And of my two eyes, Righteous and Leftiticus, Righty has always been my favorite. He's my goto eye, I mean he's always been there for me, he introduced me to what my wife looks like, he helps me with things like depth perception and color, he was there when I proposed, and he is gonna be in the hospital room when my first child is born, no doubt about it. So it's serious. But health scares like this that really get you thinking.

     I mean what would I do if there really was a scratch on my retina? The long term effects of something like that could be terrible. Worst case scenario, my retina is scratched, my perfect 20/20 vision is no more, post-retina scratch my vision is a laughable 20/40 (Goodbye pilot dreams, and screw you Tom Cruise, for filling my head with such silly notions in the first place, "Yake" would look cool on one of those helmets though....).     

     What options does a handicapper like myself have then? It's a depressing thought, aside from the great parking privleges, but I tried to list my options-

1. I guess I could get glasses. But come on, I'm not some star trek loving goon (no offense mom, you can pull off those coke bottle frames, I just don't have your elegant skull structure. Curse this small head!). 

2. I could spring for some contact lenses. Issue, I really am not going to EVER put anything in my eye. It's my private area, and no one should touch it, not even me.

3. And my final option- eye patch. The amazing thing about this option is that there really is no downside. Have you ever seen someone in real life wearing an eye patch? It pretty much turns you into a B.A. (Bad @$$) immediately. I just can't even imagine all the perks that come along with this thing. I mean, you get instant respect. You ever seen someone dis a pirate? Hells no. Aside from that fancy pants Peter Pann no one dares mess with patch wearing men (and this is an eye-patch only respect. Nicorette and motion sickness? haha. I don't think so. You just made me lolz, and if I were wearing an eye patch, I could lolz right in your face all day, and you couldn't do a thing about it (I can also say words like, "lolz" and recieve no ridicule thanks to my patch)). Also, no one would really know if you have an eye under there anyways, cause who is gonna ask? You don't just ask someone, "So hey, I uh, noticed your wearing an eye patch.... what horrific accident took your eye?" it's just not kosher. Even if you are a "rudeboy" as Rihanna calls em, you take one glance into that one-eyed gaze and you will be forking over your lunch money, and treasure, and women, and don't even think of asking for parlay. You scalliwag.... Arrrrrrrrr.....

Yes, Actually I Did Get the BasketWeaving Merit Badge. Twice.

Yep, I'm a two-time basket weaving stallion. Ok, so not a champ, but I did get the merit badge twice, yup dos. It was nothing really, not to me. Look all I did was take the class at scoutcamp. I nailed it. Then, a year later we were at a different scout camp, and everyone else was taking it. I didn't wanna go off by myself to some other class like some loser. So I just took it again, and weaved my little heart out, like a champ. Nuff said.

    

     So you know what really interests me? Movies. Those of the Lifetime variety. Can you say genius? Holy wow. They just take all the great qualities from soap operas and popular big budget films and insert some middling, past their prime, washed up losers (Tony Danza? Yes, please!). But remember, his character's name needs to be Tony, or it all just gets too complicated for the poor guy. It makes sense (You try acting! Jerk.). The results you get are pure gold- oooh note to Lifetime, find available actresses from Golden Girls.

    I am not ashamed to admit it. I have watched more Lifetime Original masterpieces than you. Period. So, I would say that I understand the workings of these films, inside and out, that are made especially for women. What is it about these films that women find so intriguing you ask? Were about to go there. I’m going to break down the proper plot ingredients to making a successful made for television, Lifetime original movie.

            First things first, er, second or third.... What is Lifetime television? Its simple. Its television for women.  I assume every stay at home mom watches it at least a solid eight to ten hours a day. Its nothing but programs and movies about topics women love. They have shows about real women who lose it and kill their whole families, and how they did it. Why do women want to watch this? Are they all looking for ideas on how to brutally kill their entire family, cover it up, and nearly get away? I don’t know, and I will never claim to know. All I know, is the pieces and parts that it takes to make a television movie that women will just eat up. Or at least watch once. This is coming from a male perspective on what these movies need to succeed.

            “But Yake,” I’m sure your begging, “how do you know all this?” Well I’ll let you in on my secret. My stepmom Robi and I have spent a substansial amount of time watching these beauties play out (I'm not at liberty to say how much time, so butt out). All the while discussing every aspect of what makes them so wonderfully drawing to Robi, a woman, and so unbelievably predictable and lame awesome to me, a guy.

            So, step number one. Set the scene. Here’s your typical opening, early morning, Mrs. Johnson awakes to the sound of a yellow cab pulling away from her home.  Her brown hair a mess, she stretches, feeling for someone next to her. Mr. Johnson is gone, again. Even when he is there, there is no warmth in his touch.  She slowly saunters down the hall, her peach colored robe makes a slight whisking sound as she descends the decadent spiral staircase. Her slippered feet don’t mask all the cold of the dark marble tiles as she walks to the kitchen of their New England mansion. She begins preparing breakfast, for one (tear).

Cut to the airport where we catch our first glimpse of Mr. Johnson (a massive tool). Wearing a dapper blue suit, obviously Italian, with a red and blue striped tie. His slightly graying hair is so elegantly disheveled as it sits atop his slightly weathered face, his square cut jaw.  We see, under one arm, a copy of the New York Times, and in his other hand, a cup of coffee.  He glances at his gold Rolex, then shoots a flirty smirk as the young, blonde flight attendant checks his ticket, and points him to his seat in first class. As he turns towards his seat, he stealthily slides off his wedding ring, placing it in his right pocket, a swaggering grin crosses his face (see this is where I wish there were some snakes on this MFin plane!).

Back at the house, Mrs. Johnson pours one glass of orange juice. See here, the idea is to already make the woman seem down to earth and smart, her choice in beverages makes that apparent. She is a sensible woman, who takes care of herself. Everyone knows how much healthier orange juice is than coffee, its full of vitamin C, and antioxidants, which fight free-radicals. Which is crazy awesome. What a silly man, starting the day with caffeine and sugar.

See, by this time you should already know which movie this is. They only have like three movies, then they just remake them. The previous opening scene was from the, “my husband is a rich douche who is cheating on me, but I’ll get even by overcoming his belittling and finding a better man who is more poor” plot. The poor man always has bigger muscles, and an even bigger heart (example, see movie- Bandits, note to Lifetime, remake Bandits, perhaps name it Brigands, dayum I'm good). Women swoon over these big hearted men (and thier substancial pectoralis). They very often come into the film in the part of gardeners and construction workers, or anyone that might be working without a shirt on. They seldom wear shirts the first time you see them onscreen. That’s important.  

We could have also discussed the movie, “my abusive husband has me so down and trapped I’m going to either, A.) get into great shape, secretly mastering many forms of self defense and lay the smack down on his candy @$$. Or B.) get wise and leave him. Becoming the super beautiful, successful woman I should have been, just to make him jealous (you go gurl!!!!!!). Oh, also the woman always becomes wealthy. What happened to the old adage, money can’t buy happiness? They usually start her out wealthy, she leaves, and its hard because she is poor and lives with her sister/mother/gay-best-friend from high school, and she ends up wealthy. Its weird.

The third type of movie is the romantic comedy. The names usually resembles previous, more popular films. Like, instead of My Best Friends Wedding, its, Her Best Friends Wedding. Now, as important as the title being similar is, its equally important for the actors to be a lot like the actors in the big budget film. If the main character has an English accent, then by George the main character in the Lifetime movie better have a freaking English accent.

There is no acceptable action movie plot on the Lifetime network. They just don’t make it on the air. Action movies are too manish. The whole idea behind Lifetime is to empower women. They want to see women in situations like themselves, only ridiculously exaggerated. And they want to see these women overcome their problems, naturally these problems almost always manifest themselves in the form of a man.

So, in a nutshell that is what it takes. You need a plot that will not surprise much. Start with a woman who is down, add a dash of not looking pretty, and a pinch of not feeling pretty. Mix in recognizing her bad situation or catching her husband cheating. Follow that up with overcoming and realizing she is better off by herself, bake at 415 degrees for about an hour and fifteen, and presto! She becomes beautiful and successful. The man attempts to get back in her life, she shoots him down, or kicks his aye-ess-ess. She finds a “better” man, one who’s more... how do you define an obedient dog? Submissive, acquiescent, and accommodating? Yes. That’s him, that’s her man. Because that’s what it all boils down to on the Lifetime network. Men need to succumb to women’s needs, ideas, and ultimate will, for the female race to be happy. But you know what I say? Not gonna happen. And that, right there, is why the Lifetime network will keep making these movies. Because until all men become docile, milk-bone loving puppies, women will need this daily dose of fantasy. To keep them from ending up on that show, the one where they go nuts and kill everybody.

(See also, Danielle Steele novels, and the Oxygen Network you lesbo.)

You Don't Gotta Be Out There Dancing For Dollars

Dear Little Ceasar's and Sonic, why you gotta be puttin dem hoes out dancin fo dollas? For any of you who live in the Provo/Orem area I'm sure you know what I'm talking about. If you don't, just cruise your sweet A up on over to the intersection of N. 500 West and Bulldog Blvd in Provo and you can see for yourself. Girls, 16-21 years old, dancing just to pay their bills. Sure it sounds like that City High song, What Would You Do? (click it to hear it), life in the projects, or even a Will Smith movie (Independence Day), but it ain't. It's freaking fast food.
         Look at yourself guurl, your standing on a corner waiving a sign. You know who else does that? Two groups come to mind, homeless people, and those skanks who hold the round number signs at boxing matches. But you know what happens to girls like that who have no real skills? Eventually, their looks fade and they can't even get a job working an auto show. Then its right back to the streets. So your back at square one. But atleast the homeless have the dignity to just stand there. None of this jumping and jiiving you kids are into.
        The Little Ceasar's girls are the real pros though, they have no shame. They play that air guitar, and shake it like an epileptic. They been doin this for years, and it makes sense, the real Ceasar was nothing more than a tyrant. I just feel bad for the Sonic girls, they're so new to the dance game, so ashamed. It's similar to that awkward stage when you first become a prostitute, but different, because they actually make decent money, but kind of the same again because nobody likes you. Everytime I see the Sonic-ettes they got the sign up pressed to their face, wearing it like a mask (masks Terrify me by the way). They seem so ashamed, but, there they stand, dancing away. And guess what, all your friends totally know thats you, your not fooling anyone. So really, how much could they possibly be paying you for that? It can't be more than like $10 an hour, and that's being generous, for rizzle. And what bills you even got? Are you even in college? How many Hello Kitty backpacks does a girl need? This is what you gotta do, switch to Sprint and get a cheaper plan sister, I'm talkin unlimited talk, text, and web for $70 a month! Then you can be txtin your BFFs like hella much, and checkin your Facebook like 1,000 times a day to see if Jeremy has written on your wall yet (he's sooo yummy!!!! LOLZ!!!). Plus, then you can stop being such a joke.

        I have a question though. Is there some kind of a sign holders union? You know, not all sign holders dance. Some just stand there and wave. It looks a lot less ridic (that's ridiculous, not Riddick, you idiot). But if there is a union, do they have requirements? There are some similarities that seem universal among sign holders.One of these is the use of personal mp3 players. Probably ipods, judging by the trendy young crowd the job (somehow!) attracts. Sometime I wanna talk to one of these girls and find out what they are listening to, is there a required playlist? Whatever they are listening to, its garbage, no doubt (or garbage like No Doubt, zing!). Probably ish they play on the radio. Jason Derulo? That guys a massive tool. Who really needs to say their own name at the beginning of every one of their songs. That is what we call shameless self promotion, and it makes you look like a total stooge.
       So seriously girls. Let's get real. You need to quit that job, or just grow a pair, and tell your boss to go dance like a maniac himself. If your willing to do that for practically nothing then whats next? Prostitution? Selling crack? Selling security systems? You can do better. There are women's rescues all over the state, find one. Go to them, tell them your story. Who knows, it might someday make a great Lifetime movie, and maybe they can get the Olsen twins to play you (fingers crossed!!!).


(Any words that are Orange can be clicked on for links to related material that may or may not help you understand my humor, thank you)

I can eat an entire bag of cheetos (puffs) in one sitting.

Yep, you read that right, an entire bag. It's just one of my many super human skills that you will learn of as you stalk me. You can just think of this as my Seinfeld blog. It's really about nothing. Nothing at all. 

      Lately. my lovely wife Brittany Ann has been very into reality television. Well really just one show, Sister Wives. If you haven't seen it google that ish immediately (I don't actually know if Googling it enables you to watch it, but I like to imagine that solves everything). If you haven't seen it or Googled it then here is the skinny, there is a polygamous family living in Lehi Utah, the husbands name is Cody, and he has 3 wives. He is "courting" a fourth as the series goes on and she marries in as lucky numero quatro (4). They all live in a big house. Its totally bizarre.  

       So Brit watched the first few episodes without me- I know, rude right?- so the first time I saw it was on like the 3rd episode. And I must say, that show is nuts. It amazes me people are still doing that. I mean, its like one of those things that you knew went on at one time, and you try not to think about it. But Sister Wives just throws it right in your fat, tv loving face. And, the craziest part about it all is, they pull it off and act like its a semi-normal kind of life (Not to be confused with third eye blinds smash 1997 hit, semi-charmed kind of life). Freaky deeky indeed. So the point is I watched like 8 episodes in one sitting, just to catch up with my wife. I would have gladly watched more, but there are only 8 episodes out. Make sure and tune in Sunday at 6:00 for the next riveting installment! Riveting installment really is a strange phrase, it sounds like something women did during WWII or something, but now I'm just way off base. (We Can Do It!)

      So the whole dang reason I brought up this Sister Wives garbage' (pronounced gar-bagge', it sounds less trashy that way) is because I saw the husband from the show, Cody, driving outside of UVU this morning about 9:17. So my first instinct was to flip around and follow his A. I don't know why, I've never really been the stalking type... but then I stopped myself and thought, "What am I doing?" I guess I was just overcome by his celebrity. And I realized how pathetic that is. He is barely worthy the title celebrity. It helped me realize something though, I would be one of those crazy gushing fans if I ever saw someone genuinely famous like say, Beyonce'. I can see myself outside of TRL now..... 'The camera pans passed Beyonce' and Carson Daly (yes, I'm that old), and focuses on the milling crowd outside. Girlishly screaming and violently pushing his way to the front of the crowd is a tall, rail thin, Jake Monsen. Teenage girls and boys go flying as pointed elbows catch helpless young teeny-boppers. What a pathetic vision eh? Yikes. Let's just say it would be more awkward than the time someone ordered a female stripper for Michael Jackson's bachelor party, lots of crying and huddling in corners. 

      Needless to say I will be working on my celebrity self control. If I ever see Whitney Houston I will control the urge to tackle her. I will not pick up anyone's trash and sell it on ebay, I won't have Rob Thomas sign my chest then quickly have it tatooed on. I pledge to be polite, courteous, and thoughtful to all celebrities of all kinds, except for Disney characters. You know who you are and what you did (Pluto, you white trash perve). 

       Manic fans are such a nuisance these days, and I just hate to be part of the problem. I wanna be the solution, the non-salene kind (contact solution joke- lame sauce).