STORY: Is THIS Spinal Tap?

Sure looks like Stonehenge to me.

NOTE: I HIGHLY RECOMMEND READING THIS BEFORE LOOKING AT THE PICTURE.

Remember when I said I’d be “making my own luck in the next 48-hours”? It was kind of a double entendre. I was dropping a little a hint about what we had in store. Yes, it was a reference to my 50DATES in 50STATES, but it was also something else.

You see, the morning after the wedding that never was, I was eager to jump into it. Meet some ladies. Try to kick this heart-ache square in the nads. But how’s a scrawny 6’2 Jew thousands of miles from home supposed to get his mack on? And keep in mind, when I say “ladies” that’s exactly what I mean. Plural. I’m a Sam’s Club pimp, I like shopping in bulk. But how?

The way I see it, there’s only one sure-fire way to attract girls in groups: money. Unfortunately, I’d spent all of mine getting to Las Vegas in the first place. And as those who know me will attest, I’m not all that lucky at the tables.

It was time to make some luck of my own. Manufacture it, if you will. And I will.

You know those cardboard checks they give you when you hit a slot machine jackpot? Sure you do, they hang ‘em by the door of most not-so-high-rent casino’s to attract suckers. Well maybe I’m a sucker like that. Or maybe not.

The plan was simple:

—Do a little research to find one of the lesser-known big money rollover machines.

—Go up to my room and approximate the machines logo on my computer.

—Put the logo on a check.

—Call back east to some of Jake Enterprise’s more helpful friends and get them to print the thing out—BIG. Jackpot big.

—Have them overnight the piece of paper to my hotel room, where I’d be waiting with spray adhesive and poster board to give the thing the proper consistency.

—Spend the rest of my time in Vegas wandering up and down the strip with my big score under my arm, getting ladies to pose for photos with me and my check.

If nothing else it’d be a good photo op. But who know what could happen if I forgot to tell someone it’s fake. I mean, can you imagine the craziness that would ensue if even once I was like, “What this? I know, crazy right. I don’t have a dollar in my pocket tonight, but you better believe I’m going to the bank tomorrow. Hey, what ‘cha doin’ later?”

Anyway, everything went according to plan. My logo was flawless. My counterfeit, beautiful. And my friends were willing to play along. It wasn’t until the tube arrived in the morning that I saw the error of my ways.

I’m no good with spatial relationships.

Yup, when I eye-balled the dimensions for the printer, it seems I was off by, oh, a fucking mile. In fact, it wasn’t until I unfurled the monstrosity that I truly realized what I’d done.

I didn’t make a check. I made fucking wallpaper.



And another failed post in the process. The room was too small… I couldn’t even squeeze it all into one photo. Oh well. Sometimes there’s nothing left to do but laugh at yourself.


ABOUT THE 50 DATES IN 50 STATES—The lines are now open, but this time, we’re going to do things in a more organized fashion. Anyone interested in taking part should send their name, age, working phone number and picture to 50DATESin50STATES@gmail.com. Please be sure to include your hometown, state, nearest airport, any strange or interesting points of interest, a suggestion or two for what we might do on our date and a compelling argument for why you should be the one. When planning our outing though, please keep in mind I’m damn near broke; the opera could be nice, but a picnic and a freak-show would be nicer. See you soon…

STORY: I MEANT What I Said…

…and I said what I MEANT, cause an elephant’s faithful 100%.

Yup, it’s wedding time. Or so I thought.

But 178 (as of this posting) possible brides is a lot of pressure. What’s a guy to do? So I started out “Coming To America”-style. i.e. Looking at a map.



JetBlue being my favorite airline—they’re super affordable, ultra-comfortable and always at the ready when I come up with this stuff—I figured I’d let them help me pick. Of the many airports they service, Vegas seemed the most obvious place to do this thing. I mean, what happens in Vegas, stays in (I’ll spare you the rest, besides, the rule hardly applies as I’m posting it on the web), but you can tie the knot there fast.

Anyway, looking through the emails I got, only one came from Las Vegas. Ladies and gentleman, I think we have a winner…

Quick, back to the airport.



Back in the sleep-hood.



Of course, this is where the plan falls apart.

My bride-to-be, Anjelea… (in the interest of full disclosure, I feel compelled to tell you that Anjelea has appeared in FHM. Still, I didn’t meet her at that time. What’s more, looks were not a factor whatsoever in my selection. JetBlue did the choosing) …who during our second phone-call promised she’d take Monday off for the nuptials and to pick me up at the airport, wasn’t actually able to get out of work. Upon landing I got a message apologizing. The big event, it seems, would have to happen after 6.



Not a big deal, right? I mean, so I took a shuttle to my hotel—who cares? Still, when I dreamt of happily-ever-after, this isn’t how it started.

On a brighter note, it gave me a little time to scope out chapels.

The Graceland Wedding Chapel was tempting.



But discerning viewers will notice photography is not allowed inside. Obviously that’s no good.



This place had a certain charm as well. But if you’re actually getting a drive-through wedding—there’s only one place to go.



Who could say no to the love tunnel?



ANOTER MOMENT OF TRUTH: I guess I haven’t been completely honest with you. Yes, I’ve been girlfriend-free for a few minutes, but that doesn’t mean my heart doesn’t belong to someone special. The timing just wasn’t right.



I guess I’d been holding out hope.



I mean, she’s fantastic. Really. Smart. Beautiful. Sexy. Funny. Fun. It just wasn’t working.



Again, I still thought maybe, just maybe... I don't know, I'm a romantic. But in the minutes leading up to this trip, she pretty-much told me it wasn't going to happen. I was crushed.



I thought maybe if I packed up my happy teeth (don’t worry, they’re fronts—custom-made, they slip over my teeth) and got hitched I’d feel better. But nothing could be further from the truth.

I swear, if I could frown with these things in my mouth I would.



Anyway, when we finally met up, I did everything in my power to cheer up.



And Anjelea was a great sport.



Turns out she’s a pretty incredible women herself.



She’s an aspiring drummer.



(I’m not going to lie, when she wrote to me about “hitting the skins” and promised I’d get to “pound hers” if and when I came to visit, I was kind of expecting something different)

But after a long (and drunken) heart to heart, we decided maybe getting hitched wasn’t the best idea. We both share the same views on marriage—ideally, it’s forever, so why make a joke of it—and love. We both believe in soul mates.

We both breathed a sigh of relief.

Then she said, “know what else I believe in?”
“What?”
“Fun!”

She took me to the most beautiful pool in all of Vegas; A massive structure with water-slides, fountains and jungle gyms.



It wasn’t until after we climbed the fence that we realized neither of us had bathing suits.









Again, I wish I could tell you “What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas,” but really all we did was skinny-dip.

Like I said, my heart was elsewhere. In fact, the craziest thing that went on all night was when I peed off the top of the water-slide.



Pretty, right? It sparkles like my teeth.

Still, I’ve got to get over this heartbreak.

What am I doing? There were 170-something entries, and who knows how many adventures in the making, still in my in-box? If anyone should be smiling, it’s me.

And so, it’s with great pleasure that I announce the next phase of TOOMUCHINFO: 50 DATES in 50 STATES. I’m not sure exactly how it’s going to work, what the format is going to be, or where money’s going to come from. Also, this is going to be a long one, it might take a year or two to hit every state in the union, but in the meantime I’ll keep up with the regularly scheduled programming you’ve come to expect.

Still, I’m hoping I’ll meet some cool people, see some new places, make some awesome memories and maybe even learn a lesson or two worth sharing in the process.

Yup, 48-hours now I start making my own luck… before Friday I should have the new email address up, among other things. Y’all come back now, ya’ hear.