Wake Me Up Before You "Oh No!"

George Michael is a Cancer . . . which is also his zodiac sign.

Nine years ago I left my very first job . . . because they made me, and I figured it was finally time to pierce my ears and grow some facial hair. I couldn't while still employed with Cask N' Cleaver due to their outdated appearance standards. I was 23, and puberty had finally granted me the ability to grow a goatee that didn't have patches missing. So what if my sister referred to them as "chin pubes," damn it, I felt like a man.

My manhood feeling was short lived because when I asked Lesley if she approved of my new look she told me: "You kinda look like George Michael."

Ah, the joys of having that one friend who will tell you the truth. Does this shirt make me look fat? Is this a good color for me? Can I pull off these red cowboy boots? No matter what, every answer she gives me, however she sugar coats it, is her honest opinion. So what do you say when the truthful and highly validated person you trust says you look like George Michael?

I did what any self respecting Gemini would do. I brushed off the comment and told myself that clearly, Lesley's mind was still stuck in the 80's. Her license plate was 80SGIRL for the love of Ray J. If anything it was the combination of earrings and facial hair, which was becoming a very popular look in 2004. I wasn't looking like George Michael! The current trend was! These were all things I told myself so I could sleep better at night.

It got worse when I decided to let my hair grow out. I have my mother to thank for this insane mop of hair that goes so crazy sometimes, its almost like my hair is screaming "WEAVE ME ALONE." People ask me what I do to my hair to make it look the way it does. The truth: I brush it. My hair is naturally wavy, which if you're a woman, I hear, is highly sought after. Every girl who looks at my hair tells me they would kill to have a natural wave. For men, or at least myself, not so lucky. Because I have a natural wave to my hair, the comparison to Mr. Michael became even more apparent.

To this day, I can't tell if that is a good thing or not. Most women who love 80's music swoon over George Michael and want him to put that "boom boom" into their hearts. However, this is no longer the 80's, and the new George women are swooning for is Clooney. So now I am stuck with a celebrity doppelganger whose latest notoriety is being caught soliciting sex in a bathroom. This could be why I don't take it as a compliment when people make the comparison to me and my Wham! look alike.

It's kind of annoying being compared to someone else all the time. It feels like you have no identity of your own because someone else is looming over you. Plus I am not a fan of repetition, and the situation always plays out the same. I think I first became aware of this when Lesley kept getting perturbed for being compared to Julia Stiles when we were younger. Once a week she would be serving some random table and their line would be: "Do you know who you look like?" That is the exact same question I get, verbatim. Just to be a smart ass, I will say "Wait. Is it George Michael?" To which the reply that always follows, "You must get that a lot."

She would tell me getting compared to George Michael is a good thing.
Les: "It's definitley a step up from when you were doing that blonde crap and being called Guy Fieri!"
Toph: "Blonde crap?!?  Let me tell you the 10 Things I Hate About You."

She did have a point. George Michael trumps Guy Fieri no matter how you slice it. Could you imagine looking like Ron Jeremy? I bet the next question on everybody's mind is do you both have enormous . . . talent. And if you didn't, that is probably the worst hand dealt by fate. I bet even Ron Jeremy himself would look at you and say, "You poor bastard," with the head shake.

 This got me thinking. Is being compared to a celebrity only a compliment depending on the celebrity doppelganger? My friend Lindsay cut her hair the other day, and I made a reference to her looking like she just came off the set of Facts of Life. As she laughed at my comment and shared it with her husband, he told her that she kinda looked like Natalie. Immediately Lindsay was offended and replied with, "Great. Now I am the fat one? I would have taken Tootie or the lesbian over her." This could have been a pre-Shark Week moment for Lindsay, but I feel her pain. After all, it was Lindsay who asked me if I would be her father figure and if she could put her tiny in hand in mine. I was never the same again after that summer.........

Don has his moments where he looks like John Corbett. When he grew his hair out, it was even more noticeable. Because we are both sarcastic A-holes, we would tease each other about our counterparts. He would ask me to sing Careless Whisper at karaoke, and I would tell him that I'm sorry Carrie cheated on him with Mr. Big.

Just recently it was brought to my attention that my brother-in-law looks like Kenny Chesney. Now I have been trying every excuse I can to get Wayne to put on a cowboy hat.

What can I say? I think his tractor's sexy. And in drag . . . . he can totally pulls off Cher:

So while people are giving me the "Do you know who you look like?" line, or when the bolder people start singing Wake Me Up Before You Go Go, I just remind myself that there are worse things. I could look like that OTHER guy from Wham!. What was his name again? And while I look like George Michael at 30, I pray to God that I age better then he did. Because if this is what I am going to look like at 50, I have lost all of my "faith-a-faith-a-faith-ah!"

On a final note. Here are some people in my life that I wanted to compare to celebrities, just so they could share the burden I face every day. Enjoy:

Mary vs Missi Pyle

Greg vs. Trent Reznor

 Jason vs Ariel

 My Sister vs. That Girl from the Blind Melon Video

 My Father vs Darth Sidious/Chancellor Palpatine

With my father, the similarities don't stop at the looks. If you don't see it, your arrogance blinds you, and you will soon experience the full power of the dark side.

P.S. Shortly after publishing, I was reminded of one of the longest running lookalikes in our group.

Megan vs. Lauren Ambrose

                                                     Denise Flemming is a tampon.

Lucky Lesley and Her Posse

I never win in Vegas. True story. While I have zero luck gambling in "Sin City," I seem to be everyone's "lucky charm." No joke. Every time I have gone with Lesley to Vegas, she has come home with some amount of money in the 3 digit range. Normally I would get mad about this type of occurrence, but her generosity usually leads to free booze and food which, really, is the key to my heart. Who would do just about anything for a Killains and some Snicker Eggs? This guy!!!!

At the beginning of February, Lesley called me to see if Jay and I would be interested in going to Vegas with her and Greg. Free rooms, free food, and she would even drive. All we had to do was go with and have a good time. Most people would tell their friends thank you or praise their gracious gesture. I am not most friends.

"You just want me to go so you can prove to Greg that you're lucky in Vegas," I believe was the statement I made.

"That is not true," she replied with an offended tone.

"We have been friends for 17 years. Are you really gonna start lying to me?"

"........Ok. So it's not entirely true," she explained. "We like spending time with you guys. You're tons of fun and we haven't done a trip just the four of us yet."

Scorpios. Masking their intent with flattery and guilt. And damn it . . . . it works every time.

I was left with the responsibility to make the CD's we would listen to on the road. I came up with four different selections: Flashback, Guilty Pleasures, One Hit Wonders, and Songs You'd Hear at a Roller Rink. (To get a track list, message me and I will send it to you.) When driving in a car for over 3 hours, it is important to maintain your sanity, and the perfect balance of music is the best way to do that. I feel I have perfected the art of road trip mixes. I have numerous friends who ask me to make them CDs on a constant basis. The divas in the back seat enjoyed it so much that they started throwing dollar bills at each other and posing for photo opps. So I had to take a picture.

And it immediately became the new lock screen image on my phone.

This is what I love about this group of people. For those of you who know all of us, we can turn anything into a party. Its in the top 3 qualities I look for when making a friend. Honesty, loyalty, ability to make any given situation a bag o' fun. But I'm the guy who will threaten you with fruit if you become the "fun sucker." And nobody likes an angry Topher with a loaded banana.

 While our women were in the back having their dance party, Greg, the ever serious driver, even took time out of his careful driving to accompany me in an epic power ballad of Hold On by Wilson Phillips on my One Hit Wonder mix. It was a touching moment, and we will always have that song. Make fun of us if you will, but you know deep down you're jealous that you couldn't be in the car with us.

We arrived at our hotel, Paris, and found our rooms across the hall from each other. When Jason and I walked into our room, we found two queen beds. I have lost count how many times this has happened to us over the years. Whenever a hotel sees the names Chris and Jason, they assume that we are not together. This also makes me wonder if there is two straight men with the same names who are constantly having to share a bed when they check in to hotels. They could be like the real life version of Burt and Ernie.

Wait a minute . . . . were Burt and Ernie a couple? . . . . . Childhood shattered.

Before I had time to make a comment about the progressive thinking that is Paris hotel, I got an angry knock at the door. Apparently the hotel didn't think Lesley and Greg were names a couple would have either and were stuck with two queen beds as well. After an angry call to the front desk, Lesley found that the only solution to the problem was booze. We all concurred.

One round of shots later, we were out on the strip in search of novelty size containers of booze. The choices were La Salsa or Fat Tuesdays. Since nobody could decide which was better, we did what any logical person met with two choices would do: rock, paper, scissors. I learned two things in that moment. 1.) Everyone always chooses rock first. 2.) Leaving things up to fate = Rock, Paper, Scissors.

My scissors cut Lesley's paper (it sounds so dirty) and that lead us into the Forum Shops for some Fat Tuesdays. After an epic long journey, three pit stops, a Jell-O shot, and some Drapering;

(for those of you who live in a hole, it's a Mad Men reference) we hit the strip, each of us with a 48 oz jug equipped with an add shot in our hand. By the time we reached Treasure Island (two blocks down) we were drunk.

This is when I found the electronic craps machine. I know. It sounds just as ridiculous as it looks. But when you're drunk off of a Hurricane/Margarita blend, rationality is not the easiest thing achieved. It was a little confusing at first. Fortunately, the 72 year old man next to me showed me how to play. That's right friends. I got taught how to use an electronic device from a senior citizen. Vegas has things you never thought you would see in a million years. Don't even get me started on the guy who was charging people $20 to kick him in the nuts.

 As ridiculous as this machine is, those huge red dice were my friend. And the more I drank, the more money I made. It was a Vegas miracle. I tripled my money and was able to make enough to pay for our dinner for the evening, the Treasure Island Buffet.

Here is the funny thing about going to a buffet when you are drunk. Everything looks fantastic, tastes like the best thing you have ever had, and you end up over eating because you can't say no. We had so many plates at our table, we could barely fit our huge ass drinks on it.

Nobody in that buffet would ever question us about having an eating disorder. The minute we stepped into that place, it was all about getting our moneys worth. Especially me. I won something for the first time, and I was going to enjoy the fruits of my success.

As we rolled ourselves out of the Treasure Island buffet, I headed back to my craps machine, to win 40 more dollars. Jason and Greg came with me to see what all the commotion was about. Lesley lost herself in a sea of neon lights and slot machine music. Twenty minutes later, she returned in a drunken shuffle, telling us that she won a lot of money. Normally this is no surprise to me because Lesley always wins when I am with her. I did get surprised when she started fanning out $100 dollar bills like she was a rapper.

Because I wasn't there, this is the events that took place while Lesley was away from us. I could only piece the story together through drunken rambling, but the gist of the story is there.

Lesley had a ticket for $11 dollars and was hell bent on winning something or losing the money because it was not worth cashing in due to her level of intoxication. After finding the brightest quarter machine with a gimmick, she could find. For those of you who never had the divine pleasure to gamble with Lesley before, those are the machines that are her money makers. No joke, I watched her spin the wheel on one machine 10 times after putting in $10 and getting back $75. As Alicia Keys would say, "This girl is on fire." So it's no surprise that she inserted her ticket, hit max bet, and on the first spin the machine lit up like the Fourth of July and started blaring some type of music. The machine read 7000 credits and immediately Lesley found herself in the same boat as everyone else does who wins a jackpot. Your face goes from ecstatic to confused. One second, you can't believe you just won. The next second, you're trying to do long division because you don't know how much you've actually won.

From across the room, Lesley could see us playing at our craps machine. She proceeded to call out to us, in a whisper, because she didn't want to attract attention to her jackpot winnings. When her whispering shout-outs did not attract our attention, she proceeded to call me on my phone, text Greg, and post on Jason's Facebook.

Next, because she was too drunk to do math, or remember that she had a calculator on her phone, she reached out to her Facebook friends to see how much money she actually won.

This is where the story gets jumbled because I really only got bits and pieces. A lady next to her told her congratulations and Lesley asked her if she wanted to hold her "lucky spoon." (For all my sick minded readers, Lesley actually has a lucky spoon. She stole it from Howie Dorough of the Backstreet Boys hotel room when she saw him in Vegas and by God that thing has been bringing her luck since.) And at some point she asked someone to take her picture with the woman who ended up getting her the money she won.

Greg was shocked. Jason was floored. and I was happy people could see that I wasn't exaggerating when I told them about Lesley being lucky every time she took me to Vegas. And then there was Lesely, who repeated the same 4 phrases in no particular order:
1.) I can't do math
2.) I am so drunk
3.) Am I annoying you guys?
4.) I might throw up

The rest of the night was filled with walking a drunk Lesley back to our hotel, who didn't throw up by the way, but did make a few people think she was going to. There was also the moment when she saw a fountain and started singing Fame, as she tried to get up on the ledge to dance. Fortunately for her, I saw this coming and averted what was suppose to be a scene from Fame turning into the movie Splash.

All in all, we had a blast. Jason and I together ended up $18 up from what we had when we left with, which means Vegas basically paid us to come visit. So maybe my luck is finally turning around. My fortune cookie seemed to think so.

To which my response was:

Bad 80's joke, I know.