Does this smell funny to you?

It is hot. Damn hot. So hot that Kool and the Gang would have to change their name to Motherfucking Sweltering and the Gang. Hotter than the underside of James Gandolfini's tits while he vacations in El Salvador. Ok I'm done. If it wasn't for all the tall margaritas running around, I would never leave the house on a day such as this.


I dread coming into work on days like today because a large chunk of my day is spent outside, and I have to always wear work type clothes. If only jean shorts and Bart Simpson t-shirts were considered professional wear. I would be literally and figuratively chill. But NOOOOOOOO! When will humanity learn the error of it's prejudice ways? *Ryan shakes his head in disgust*

So there I am sitting on the Ferry to Manhattan when a startling and horrifying thought creeps into my head.


"Did I remember to put deodorant on this morning?"


Oh fuck! It's already a sweltering 86 degrees out and the humidity makes it feel like you are walking through a wet paper towel. In normal situations I sweat at almost Patrick Ewing levels, so if I allowed myself to slip into a B.O. panic attack, I would wind up wetter than Rosie O'Donnell at a Hawaiian Tropic clambake. What the fuck? I still had to finish the boat ride and venture into the oven known as the South Ferry Subway station. Without chalky protection in my stink divots, by the time I got to work I would be a walking biological weapon.


There was still a glimmer of hope that I had simply forgot I had applied my Old Spice. I needed to do a sniff test to find out. So I casually acted like I was scratching my shoulder and plunged my proboscis into the danger zone. *sniff sniff* My normal body odor is very similar to the smell one would find in an unkempt butcher shop, but that was not present. It didn't mean I was safe. The stink just be moving slowly while penetration the hair force field of my underarms. I had to be certain.


If I could just get my finger in there I would be able to find out if any deodorant was present on the scene. Because I am a rebel and poo poo that silly thing known as common sense, it didn't occur to me that I could go to the bathroom to complete this maneuver. Instead I unbuttoned the top button of my button down shirt and very slowly stuck my hand inside towards my armpit. Once I hit pay dirt I swabbed around for a split second and yanked my hand back out. I quickly began smelling my finger to find out what my situation was. A smile crept across my face as I recognized that sweet sweet smell of soap and old time mariners. YES! I RULE!


Twas at this point in our tale where I began to notice no less than four fellow commuters staring at me in disgust. At first I was shamed, then I became angry and full of pride, and I wanted to give them the finger. The Old Spice finger! Then I remembered that I am a vagina and returned to my normal thoughts of giving erotic massages to my favorite female basketball players. Mmm...T-Spoon.

It's Science, Part 2.

As those of you who I send messages to on AIM all morning to avoid doing work may have noticed, I wasn't around this morning. This was because I ventured outside to take another shot at my friendly harassment of the ladies.

It is absolutely gross out today. The temperature is in the 90s and the humidity readings are ranging between 90% and Louie Anderson's taint. The one good thing about the Venutian temperatures is that the women of the city like to parade around half naked, so I had many worthy targets this morning.

Originally I was planning to use some of the suggestions people were nice enough to give me or leave in comment form, but I forgot them and couldn't be arsed to check what they were. So I found a new spot in the shade on a new block and began to muster up some courage and pray my brain would come up with something better than, "I want to fuck a bag of your hair."

An attractive white gal in disturbingly tight, white Capri pants strolls by...

"How's it goin' miss?" Pathetic, I know. She obviously didn't even flinch. I never call anyone "miss" unless she is on a box of hot chocolate. I don't know why I said that.

A tall, good looking black woman in a halter top enters my field of vision...

"Hey girl...uhh... Shit!!!" I completely choked here. I panicked I think because in all likelihood I would have said something really dumb involving the word chocolate, and I know that all black women can beat me up. I was struggling out there real bad. AnNother one like this and I was going to be done for sure.

A middle aged, but still MILFy brunette carrying a Duane Reed bag prances down the sidewalk...

"Yo girl, I got all the medicine you need" Halfway through this sentence I began to wish I was a turtle, so I could hide in my shell and roll into a sewer then learn karate. However! Much to my surprise she not only turned her head, but she smiled! Score one for Ry Dawg!

A foine lookin, well tanned chick with dangerous amounts of cleavage bounces by...

"Hey good lookin, what's happenin on the Flip Side!" Help me. What is this? What the fuck is this?! There was no reaction. If there was it was just her choking back the vomit. I begin to think I don't have much left in me for today.

A very tall, bird-looking yet still cute female swoops on by...

"Heyy eyyyy. Yeah. Alright" If you could hear me say this it would come across as much more enticing and seductive. At least I didn't go with my first instinct and call her "Stretch." This is when I decided to call it a day. And much like my previous entry, this blog ends with me turning away from a girl and running off in the opposite direction as quickly as possible.

So I guess today was not a complete failure even though it felt like one. It's kind of like, "I just completely wrecked my car, but at least my Kenny Loggins mix tape survived."

I don't know if I can do this again. I will be taking advice if I do however, so feel free.

Forever in Blue Jean Shorts

On our last episode of "Ryan is Really Stupid, and when I say really I mean REALLY," I found myself about to spend an evening with two young and attractive fashion students while clad in denim from hip to slightly below my knee.

So there I am trying to act cool like everyone knows wearing jean shorts is the hip thing to do and it's not at all embarrassing enough that I would write a blog about the experience one day, when Rebecca (the girl I had previously charmed) lays this on me.

"A couple more of my friends said they wanted to come along to the movie."

Awesome! Four College girls! Even without the severe fashion faux pas dangling from my waist, this situation would normally be enough to send me into a mental tail spin with flames of anxiety bursting forth from my fuselage. Somehow I managed to ignore the voice in my head saying "PUNCH OUT MAVERICK!" and convince myself that since I was here I might as well stick it out.

Now in all my excitement and horror I hadn't bothered to find out what movie we were going to see. When they told me we were going to see "The Break Up" I could hardly contain my excitement and bile. What an awesome girls night out this would be for us ladies. But it turns out the movie is better than I thought it would be. Perhaps there is hope for this night after all! We sat in the first row because the theater was packed, so I spent most of the film hoping my nose hairs weren't visible in the dim glow of the projector's light as I leaned my head back.

After the movie we walked back to this hotel where they all live, and I was told I had to wait in the lobby while they all went up stairs to "do girl things." I can only assume this meant change their tampons and talk about how much of a weirdo I am. I spent approximately 15 minutes talking to a bellhop named Felix before the ladies came back down. One of them was now missing. I was told she was tired, but I'm pretty sure it was because she was allergic to Wranglers.

The four of us walked around a bit before finding a diner. I was pretty starving form all the staving off of multiple panic attacks, but rather than immediately blurt out to the waiter, "I'll have belgian waffles my good man, and stack them as high as the eye of a mountain goat," I let the gals order first. Thankfully they all ordered meals, so I was able to get my goat's eye waffles, which are not to be confused with goatse waffles. Those taste like ass.

During the meal I thought I was highly entertaining. Not only did I razzle them, but I also dazzled them to the max. I had them laughing frequently and was enjoying myself until I used a local cultural saying which elicited a, "Oh my god you sound like one of the Gotti kids!!" from one of the girls who I will now refer to as Bitchface McHugevag.

I pay for the meal because I'm a gentleman, and it was only 21 bucks. We all walk back to the hotel, and I am wondering what in the world is going to happen now. hey all decide to call it a night. Bitchface McHugevag and the other friend head back up to their stalls, and I am left alone outside with Rebecca.

You'd think I would be in good shape because her friends seemed to like me and none of them once called me "Mean Jean Okerlund." As I stood there with her, a Tsunami of nervousness and distress came barreling down 8th Avenue at me. Being that I am neither Jet Li or Petra Nemcova, I get swept up in it. My hands feel like they are beginning to shake. My voice begins to crack when I talk. I notice that what has been merely a semi-erection all night long is starting to mature into a full on boner. I panic and half-scream out, "That was fun we should all do it again some time HAHA AHA HA." I then boldly lean in and plant one on her lips.

Okay, "plant one" isn't appropriate to use here. I pecked her on the lips and then turned around and ran across the street as fast as I could because I am 12 years old.

And that was the last I ever saw of the quartet of fashion students. It was not my finest moment, but at least I learned a valuable lesson. Do not dress like a bull dyke on a date.

The Long and Shorts of It

Amazingly enough, during the year or so that I didn't post here, one or two interesting things happened to me. They were all painful or embarrassing, but if I can get a good blog post out of it, all the shame was worth it.

One such tale doth begin way back in the Summer of '06. The kids were hitting the beaches and Wyclef was informing us that Colombian hips are completely honest. I was working in an office in midtown Manhattan where I do office work.

One day an attractive young college student showed up to help on some project that was near completion. If I had to paint a picture of her with words I would say she was one tall margarita with a short but full and bouncy auburn colored hairdo, an adorable face you just want to bite off and skin the color of skim milk.

Now we would all assume I'd be a nervous and mostly silent oaf as she worked in the same room as I did. However, this day I was feeling kinda jazzy my friends and I whipped myself up into a human tornado of humor, charm and sultry facial expressions. Confidence Rising! I learned much of this young lass. Her name was Rebecca. Rebecca was from Ohio. Rebecca was currently not in Ohio because she was studying fashion in New York City. Keep this last tidbit on the surface of your brain.

As the hours rolled by and the number of laughs and smiles I drew out of her grew, I became emboldened! By quitting time I had not only gotten her digits, but we had already made tentative plans to hang out the coming weekend.

Confidence Explosion!

We time travel ahead to Saturday. Around noonish I speak to Rebecca via cellular phone and she tells me she will call me in a few hours to let me know if she can hang with ol' Ry Dawg later that evening. I've just decided my supremely and tragically confident alter-ego will be known as Ry Dawg. The hours pass. I kill time by doing some yard work and practicing my katas outside. I surrender to the thought that there will be no hanging of the out this evening with my hip young gal pal.

This of course means that 10 minutes later my phone rings and Rebecca tells me that she and her friend are going to a movie, and she would like me to come along. However the movie started relatively soon and I would have to leave almost immediately to make it in time. Being the cool customer I am I say, "Oh yeah definitely I will be there!!" I bolt out the door still swishing Scope swishing between my cheeks.

Because I was swept up in the giant wave of enthusiasm that was carrying me to my fate, I failed to realize something until it was too late to go back...

I am wearing jean shorts.

In my haste I forgot to change out of my standard gardening/karate practicing attire of jean shorts. Oh god I think they are Wranglers!

As I came up out of the subway station 2 blocks from where I was to meet Rebecca and her friend I managed to convince myself that this wasn't a big deal. I was halfway across the street when I saw the attractive girl I was meeting and her equally attractive friend waiting for me when it hit me...

I am wearing jean shorts while hanging out with a couple of fashion students.

This is getting too long, so I'm going to have to throw in a "To be continued..."

TO BE CONTINUED....

It's Science, Part 1

And so the great experiment begins.

If you read my previous post, you would know now my fascination with men hollering at women walking down the street, and my desire to participate in it. This morning I found some time to jump on in to this swimming pool of public lechery.

I walked a few blocks away from my office to avoid any of my co-workers witnessing me embarrassing myself. I found what looked like a nice comfortable spot on the side of a building, leaned up against it in a happening "Fonzie next to the jukebox"kind of manner and waited.

Admittedly at this point I am nervous as all get out. I wanted to give up and abandon the whole science project. Women kept walking by and all I could manage was my creepy "I'm checking you for obvious pantylines" stare. (Mad Props to Jessica for the OPL)

After about ten minutes I decided I had to dig deep, real deep, and find some testicles. So I removed my imaginary shovel from it's corinthian leather case and got to work.

An average looking white female with huge sunglasses walked by....

"Lookin good girl," feebly fell out of my mouth. I am not even positive she heard it because I think I was saying it into my armpit. However, it was a vocalization in the general direction of a lady. Confidence rising!

A tall Mediterranean looking girl in a billowy summer dress strutted by...

"You are one tall margarita." As soon as this left my mouth I realized I should have planned out what to say beforehand. I don't even know what this means. She didn't have salt around her head. HOWEVER, I'm pretty sure her head dropped forward with laughter. It could have also been fear and disgust, but I'm feeling optimistic today. Confidence rising!!

A short blond broad in capri pants and some kind of tank top deal ambled by...

"Yeeeaaah! You know what time it is girl." This was not good. The girl stopped and looked at me. I was not prepared for this. I tried as hard as I could at this moment, but I could not seem to push myself through the wall of the building to escape like Shadowcat. As I stood there paralyzed and trying to hold back a wave of bodily fluids from flooding out of me she said, "I'm sorry did you say something?"

"Uhhhhh. Just ... uhhhhh... what time is it?" This was all i could muster under such duress. She gave me the time and walked off. I pointed myself in the opposite direction and racewalked back to my office in shame.

Confidence depleted.

This was not as fun as I had anticipated. I do intend to at least make one more go of it when the wounds heal. I am an emotional hemophiliac though.