Tampa, FL by way of St. Louis, MO

Nathan DeGraaf graduated fucking years ago with a BA in Creative Writing from the University of South Florida, which he still lives near because college chicks are the best. On weekday evenings, Nate can typically be found at any one of a number of North Tampa bars. On weekends, he typically cannot be found. When not drinking, fishing, watching sports, or having sex, Nathan likes to read, play the harmonica, and show up for work. Throughout the course of his life, he has been arrested six times because, as his father has often said, "the kid is fucking stupid."

Comedy Writing

The Snippets Need Focus

Checkslovakian chick: Do you expect to live forever?<br />Me: No. <br />Checkslovakian chick: Then why do you act like it?<br />Me: It’s easier. <br />Checkslovakian chick: Ahh, you are truly an American. <br /><br />Jerry: I like how you haven’t changed, Nate.<br />Me: What do ya’ mean? You like how I’m still the same asshole?<br />Jerry: Hey man, at least you’re consistent. <br /><br />Random Dude: Hey, are you guys gonna be staying here long? Because we really want that table. <br />Me: That is a horrible shirt. <br />Random Dude: What are you talking about? It’s an O’Neil.<br />Me: Oh, well then, excuse me. <br /><br />Random Lady: So what brings you to this wedding?<br />Me: I don’t know.<br />Random Lady: Well, who do you know here?<br />Me: The bride.<br />Random Lady: That’s it. <br />Me: No. I like to hold back on total strangers. It keeps them in line. <br />Random Lady: Are you from New York?<br /><br />Me: If I were you, I would use cancer as an excuse for everything. <br />Doug: What do you mean?<br />Me: I mean like, if anyone ever bitched about me staying out too late and drinking too much I’d be all like, “Fuck you. I got cancer. I’m living life for the moment.”<br />Doug: Well yeah, but you don’t want to rely on that—<br />Me: Or if I got caught cheating on my woman, I’d be all like, “Fuck you, bitch. Do you know what it was like beating cancer? I need people. I need to live.”<br />Doug: Glad to see you haven’t changed, Nate.<br /><br />Random Bus Lady: Oh really, you beat cancer? What did you have?<br />Doug: Hodgkins Lymphoma. <br />Random Bus Lady: My friend died from that. <br />Doug: That’s nice, lady. Real good to know. <br /><br />Amy: I missed you terribly. <br />Me: So, who’d you cheat on me with?<br />Amy: It was just for two minutes and then I pushed him away. I felt horrible. <br />Me: Get the fuck out. <br /><br />Me: I can’t believe it. She cheated on me.<br />Emmy: What? That’s never happened to you before?<br />Me: Not to my knowledge. <br />Emmy: That really surprises me. <br />Me: Gee, thanks. <br /><br />Me: What are you doing tonight?<br />Bethany: Going home. <br />Me: After that?<br />Bethany: I don’t know. Why? What did you have planned?<br />Me: I just broke up with my girlfriend and I was figuring me and you could go back to my place and have some serious rebound sex. <br />Bethany: Good night.<br />Main: It amazes me that you don’t get slapped more. <br />Me: Yeah, me too.

Learning from Doug

Doug is a single parent who balances hangovers with sleepovers. He's someone you should look up to while passed out on the floor.

Six Bucks in New York

I would love to tell y’all the details of my weekend in NYC, but well, Memory, that alcohol hating little bitch, does not preserve the whole weekend. Memory, that selective little gutterslut, will not allow me to tell you the whole tale. I guarantee you there are a number of people who I met in New York that woke up Sunday morning pissed off at me. To you people, I would apologize, but Memory sucks the stuck sand out of a beachgoer’s ass crack and I, as a result, don’t remember you. Hey, what can you do? The best you can is all you can do I guess (holy shit, I’m typing to myself now—this can’t be good).<br /><br />Anyway, Friday night I got into New York and spent the night drinking heavily with three girls and one guy in a Checkslovakian bar in Chinatown (and yes, I know how stupid that sounds). The three girls were all very impressed that I was walking the streets alone in that part of New York at that time of night (late). They kept making allusions that some harm would come to me if I walked home alone. At one point, I was so bothered by these allusions that I said something to the effect of, “Do you really think any of these turtleneck wearing motherfuckers could protect me?” To which one girl, whose name is being withheld by Memory because he’s a damn purist when it comes to alcohol, replied, “No, I will.” So, around four in the morning, she walked me both blocks to my hotel and up the stairs to my room. I could have fucked her. I did not.<br /><br />“Wow,” I thought. “I’m a pretty good boyfriend.”<br /><br />Saturday morning, I woke up, found the cat who crapped in my mouth, killed him, ate him and headed to find an open bar. But dammit, there were none. It was only around Ten AM. So, as is the custom in NYC, I walked. And I walked. And I walked. Eventually, I found an open bar in, of all places, Tribeca. Let me tell you a little something about Tribeca: the people who live there are snobs and should all be shot.<br /><br />I did however, really enjoy the people who worked in the Tribeca bar (which, by the way, was a soccer bar. I mean, what the fuck, right? Are we in America or aren’t we?). The bartender gave me a free Bloody Mary and a waitress pressed her phone number in my hand. Her name was Suzie, and above the number were the words, “I get off at four.” I could have fucked her, but I didn’t.<br /><br />“Wow,” I thought. “I’m an awesome boyfriend.”<br /><br />Later, I met up with Doug, my old college roommate, and Jerry, a friend of his who I had hung out with on a few other occasions in New Jersey, New York and Tampa. We drank religiously. We sucked down drinks in several bars which have all kind of blurred together because Memory seems to think sobriety is a right and not a privilege (the punk bitch). I remember that I tried to start fights with random people. I was unsuccessful. I insulted a guy’s shirt. He took it personally. A bartender nicknamed me, “Mouth” which was funny ‘cause that was one of my dad’s nicknames for me. I did not tell the bartender that tidbit of family history. I had a few names for the bartender. I don’t think he liked me. Everything was spinning. Worse yet, I had to get to a wedding reception.<br /><br />The wedding reception kind of sobered me up. I drank three rum and cokes, ate as many puffed pastries, jumbo shrimps, bacon wrapped scallops and deviled eggs as a man could, hugged the bride, met the groom, and went back to go drinking with Jerry and Doug. We drank and drank and drank. We met up with their friend, Brett and drank some more.<br /><br />The following morning, Doug and I found that Memory had quit entirely for him around Ten PM. My memory gave up completely around midnight. We didn’t get back to the hotel room until much later than that. We don’t know how we got home but we were happy to be alive. We awoke fully clothed on top of the covers in my hotel room, which was on the fourth floor. Doug and I were generally impressed that we had managed to make it up the stairs. I was amazed we found the hotel (Doug knows the city pretty well so he wasn’t impressed about finding his way back). We found another couple of mouth-shitting cats, killed them, ate them, and headed to his place in North Jersey.<br /><br />Like I said, I wish I could tell you more. But not one cohesive story came out of this entire weekend. What can you do?<br /><br />Anyway, Doug and I spent Sunday recuperating in his beautiful home with his beautiful daughter and his beautiful refrigerator which was filled with beautiful food that we ate beautifully. I mean, that shit was beautiful.<br /><br />Before the flight back, I had about two hours to kill. I met a girl named Carmen in the airport bar in JFK. Carmen’s in Tampa on vacation as we speak. She told me, point blank, that she didn’t think she would get to enjoy her vacation because she had no one to fuck. I told her that I would love to help her out, but I couldn’t because I had a girlfriend. I gave her my number and told her that if she wanted a tour guide, she should give me a call. She said that she wanted much more than that. I smiled and kissed her on the cheek (a kiss goodbye). She called that peck, “the kiss of death.” I could have fucked Carmen. I did not.<br /><br />“Damn,” I thought. “My girl is so lucky I’m such an awesome boyfriend.”<br /><br />After arriving home, my girlfriend came over. After receiving my gift of a six dollar keychain, she informed me that she had cheated on me.<br /><br />“Get the fuck out,” I said.<br /><br />And she left.<br /><br />Guys, there’re two lessons here. First, when on vacation, never pass up a chance to cheat on your girl. Unless there’s a ring on her finger, she don’t mean shit. And second, no girl is worth six bucks.<br /><br />Oh yeah, and congratulate <a href="https://www.pointsincase.com/nathan/2006/01/interview-with-bunni.html">Bunni</a>. She wins <a href="https://www.pointsincase.com/nathan/2006/04/finishing-breakup-pool-updated.html">the breakup pool</a>.

My Mom Took This Photo

Here's my face. Feel free to make fun of me for a little while. New post on Tuesday. Until then, I'll be in New York. Kisses.<br />

Rainy Day College

The rain falls drably on the stuccoed, exterior grime of my apartment as I watch the clouds dance with one another, unaware which mass of weather is leading, unaware if the thundering, boisterous relationship will last, or like so many midnight moments, just pass, while the dog growls incessantly at the shadows of scurrying alley cats who ain’t got no alleys, let alone a dry spot that’s not under somebody’s something like a car or my porch, which is loved by all alley cats and people alike who want some dry place to spend the night and don’t mind the grime within (which was tracked from without) that I call my home, and no, I never wanted anything more than this, with the possible exception of a nice, dry day because, you see, the dog needs a walk and the people can’t talk about nothing except what they would do if it was nice (and I never seen them get off their lazy, rent-free asses and do anything when it’s nice except buy more drugs which we already got—saved some for a rainy day) and how they want to see the beach and do some water skiing and maybe go to a strip club, all of which they can’t afford because that bag on the coffee table is their life savings and we just rolling and smoking and rolling and smoking and sitting and wishing that the cats would leave or the dog would find another excuse to shut the hell up or the rain will cease so all of the aforementioned distractions would fade and we could all just head out into the humid drops of sunlight which conjures ghost-like steam from the potholed, asphalt street, where so many of us people met on that first day four years ago when the world was a brighter place and the streets were paved with possibilities and the dog was so little you could hold him in one hand and he’d still have room to lie down and take a nap, but somehow, the rain keeps on going and going and we know that we’ll never get back to that street where we met so many dramatic events ago; somehow we all know the rain will be forever and the street, (we’ll call it memory lane) will always be wet as someone turns on the ballgame and throws in some nostalgic sixties song, and even the cats seem to sing along as we once bright and shiny optimists are content to stay dry in the marijuana room, and never ask why, ‘lest the answer foreshadow our doom.

The Snippets Need a Vacation

<a href="http://pizzatherapy.com/making_pizza.jpg"><img style="float:right;width:200px;cursor:hand;margin:0 0 10px 10px;" alt="" src="http://pizzatherapy.com/making_pizza.jpg" border="0" /></a>Amy: I like you better when you’re with your mom.<br />Me: Why?<br />Amy: Because you have to be polite and you have to let people take pictures of you. So, because of your mom, I get pictures and a polite boyfriend.<br />Me: She leaves tomorrow. Don’t get used to it.<br />Amy: Forget that. I’m milking this shit.<br /><br />Bobby: Why you going to New York?<br />Me: Every now and again, I get the urge to kill someone and eat a great slice of pizza in the same day.<br />Bobby: Huh?<br />Me: A friend of mine is getting married.<br />Bobby: So you’re gonna kill someone?<br />Me: No, Bobby. I promise I won’t kill anyone in New York.<br />Bobby: I don’t know. Best watch making promises you can’t keep.<br />Me: Are you even listening to me, or are you like, having your own conversation?<br />Bobby: Yeah well, enjoy the pizza.<br /><br />Amy: Yay, it’s Wednesday.<br />Me: What’s so great about Wednesday?<br />Amy: You post snippets on Wednesday.<br />Me: This relationship is weird.<br /><br />Me: I finished the snippet part of my new book.<br />Pizza Dude: That’s great, hoss.<br />Me: I think it’s gonna be really good. I can’t wait to finish it.<br />Pizza Dude: Like I said, cool.<br />Me: I think this could be really funny.<br />Pizza Dude: Are you gonna order anything or what?<br /><br />Amy: I start my period, Friday.<br />Me: That’s perfect. I leave for New York on Friday.<br />Amy: That’s great, babe.<br /><br />Bobby: I guess you better be getting home to your woman.<br />Me: Nope. I’m staying here.<br />Bobby: What? Is she out of town or something?<br />Me: Nope. She lost her phone again.<br />Bobby: Look how he smiles when he says that.<br />Reggie: He be like, ‘my girl can’t find me so she can’t complain about me not answering the phone so I can stay out drinking as long as I want.’<br />Bobby: Most men would be worried about not being able to get in touch with their women. You seem to like the idea.<br />Me: Something wrong with that?<br />Bobby: Yeah, you ain’t even thirty yet. Most men don’t figure that shit out ‘till they're forty five.<br />Reggie: You head of the class, Nate.<br />Me: Thanks, Reggie.<br /><br />Me: So, who you gonna cheat on me with while I’m in New York?<br />Amy: Please. Like, I’m gonna trade one night of bad sex for a shitload of nights of awesome sex.<br />Me: That’s just you stroking my ego.<br />Amy: No babe, that’s me doing math.<br /><br />Dad: So, I read that blog post about your girlfriend.<br />Me: Yeah.<br />Dad: It looks like you’re dealing with a classic case of female insecurity.<br />Me: Ahh.<br />Dad: I can help you with that if you like. But anyway, what do you think about the Cardinals this year?<br />Me: Seems like a strong team. I just wish we could solidify the outfield and maybe add a bat.<br />Dad: Me too, son. Me too.

Observations Like a Sturdy Stool

<a href="https://www.pointsincase.com/nathan/uploaded_images/dcboys-766186.jpg"><img style="float:right;cursor:hand;margin:0 0 10px 10px;" alt="" src="https://www.pointsincase.com/nathan/uploaded_images/dcboys-759864.jpg" border="0" /></a>Wow. This is my 253rd post in just under a year. Seems like only yesterday I was on my 250th. How time flies…<br />

Happy Memorial Day

<a href="https://www.pointsincase.com/nathan/uploaded_images/punkchiks-778253.bmp"><img style="float:right;cursor:hand;margin:0 0 10px 10px;" alt="" src="https://www.pointsincase.com/nathan/uploaded_images/punkchiks-762375.bmp" border="0" /></a>Saturday night, I realized that (sin of all sins), I was out of beer. So I left my girlfriend masturbating to internet porn, and went up to the local food store. At this little house of prepackaged foodish like stuff, located behind the counter, was a thin, flat-chested (though exceptionally cute) punk girl, who wore a black shirt bearing the following message, written in white lettering:<br /><br />“Without challenging social norms, there will never be progress.”<br /><br />So I said to this young lady, “Does your boyfriend ever use that line to get you to do stuff in bed? Like, if he wants anal, does he ever tell you that your relationship won’t progress if you two don’t challenge social norms?”<br /><br />Now, everyone in line behind me lost their collective shit. I was high-fived by three total strangers and there was much laughter. But, that wasn’t the coolest part. The coolest part was this: she actually blushed.<br /><br />I hadn’t seen anyone blush in awhile. I’d almost forgotten that members of our society were even capable of doing it. And, I realized I enjoyed making and watching that clerk blush.<br /><br />(Side note: I don’t know why I enjoyed it. Mark Twain once said something to the effect of, “the human animal is the only animal that can blush.” Maybe I enjoy human beings expressing how different they are than animals. More likely though, I’m just weird and this is just another stupid quirk of mine.)<br /><br />So, now I have a new mission in life. My new mission in life is to make as many women blush as humanly possible. You gotta have goals.<br /><br />And yes, I will keep you updated on the results of this mission, tentatively titled, “Operation Red Face.”<br /><br />Wish me luck.

Publish Post?

Girls, if you have a blog that your boyfriend reads, do not put the following on it:<br /><br />“Sometimes I wonder if I would be doing Nathan a favor by just breaking up with him. It’s hard for me not to want to spend a lot of time with him. I can be sober around him, not like with most of my other friends, and no one makes me feel as safe. But what does he get out of being with me? I just eat his food and spend his money and ambush him when he’s trying to take a shower or watch sports. He cooks me dinner and buys the beer, while I smoke his cigarettes and watch cartoons. I mean really, what's he thinking? I know that I make him feel special, since few women go crazy for blond body hair, Dutch eyes, and geeky writers like I do. But weighed against the fact that he gets propositioned for sex daily by other women, and I break his stuff like it’s nobody’s business, I still don’t get it. Frankly, it makes me feel a little guilty.”<br /><br />And now I don’t get it. Seriously, what the hell is wrong with me? What the hell is wrong with her? And how long could the answers to those questions be? I’m betting six pages apiece.

Spreading the News

<a href="https://www.pointsincase.com/nathan/uploaded_images/liberty-762057.jpg"><img style="float:right;cursor:hand;margin:0 0 10px 10px;" alt="" src="https://www.pointsincase.com/nathan/uploaded_images/liberty-759415.jpg" border="0" /></a>The first weekend in June, I’m going to New York.<br /><br />The last time I was in New York, the twin towers were standing and the Yankees had a bullpen. So, it’s high time I returned. Not that you give two rat turds dipped in urine, but I’m going to New York because I’m in my twenties, which means most of my friends are in their twenties, which means most of my friends are getting married, which means I’m going to a wedding in New York. Which basically just means that I’ll be getting drunk in a different location with people who either don’t know me or actually like me (there are still a few out there).<br /><br />Now, I was gonna use this space to go off on why I think marriage is a total sham and I’ll never get married ever because there’s absolutely no reason to ruin your life like that, but the truth is, I really don’t feel like pissing off a whole bunch of women today (hey, maybe tomorrow). (Side note: I hate the fact that all women are proponents of marriage and all men are skeptical of the idea. If that doesn’t tell you something about the importance of marriage in this country, well, quite frankly, you’re an idiot. But thanks for reading.) So instead, I’m gonna borrow a page from <a href="https://www.pointsincase.com/columns/justin/archives.htm">Justin Rebello</a> and bitch about my life.<br /><br />I’m busy as hell. This is my biggest complaint. Not only do I have to work an office job from nine to five where I actually have to get work done every stinking day, but afterwards, I have to come home and try to get some writing done (I’m working on a book) in forty five minutes, then I have to go out and umpire baseball games. And then, when all this is finished and I just want to go home, rub one out and go to bed, I have to deal with my girlfriend who cannot get enough attention from me and is, unfortunately, bearing the brunt of my resulting attitude. So basically, I can’t do what I want to do pretty much ever.<br /><br />Now, I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, “DeGraaf, just quit the umpiring gig and tell your woman to take a hike and finish that book because I know you’ve got like a hundred pages of snippets and I want to fucking read them.” And to you I say, “Fuck off.” I umpire out of obligation because that crew needs me there. They need me because they have few umpires of my caliber (and yes, I am at least above average at everything I do, which is why I do what I do and if you have a problem with that you can go to hell—man am I pissed today). And, as regards the girlfriend, kicking her out is coming dangerously close to breaking up with her because she lives with her dad now and she hates it there. So kicking her out is basically a fight. And by the way, I love it when one of the reasons I haven’t finished the book yet (Amy) tells me I should finish the book. That, right there, is women in a nutshell.<br /><br />Speaking of which, I have been working with a woman who has been trying to get me fired for three years. She’s retiring now, so she’s on the final lap of her mission. Every day I get through without impaling her with my letter opener is a great day for me.<br /><br />So basically, I am in a new place for me. I’m not happy. <a href="https://www.pointsincase.com/blog/court.htm">Court Sullivan </a>once told me that I was one of a handful of genuinely happy people he knows. I never really understood what he meant until I woke up today in a bad mood after an evening wherein I displayed quite a bit of anger (sorry, Amy). I had never waken up in a bad mood before. Now I know what it’s like and it really sucks. So, clearly I need to find happiness again. How will I do that (you never asked)? Well, I will fly to Manhattan and get drunk as hell with one of my best friends. You may know him as the <a href="https://www.pointsincase.com/nathan/2006/05/chills.html">owner of Chills</a>. I’ll get a little change of scenery, a little catching up with an old friend, a lot of debauchery and, hopefully, I will return with batteries recharged and tackle the final leg of this book.<br /><br />Wish me luck.<br /><br />Oh yeah, and if you’ll be in Manhattan late Friday night (June 2nd) or Saturday (June 3rd), please feel free to let me know where you’ll be buying me a drink (so long as it’s actually on the island), and I’ll do my best to get there. I’m a drunk like that.

Breaking the Snippets

<a href="https://www.pointsincase.com/nathan/uploaded_images/cottonelle-766882.jpg"><img style="float:right;cursor:hand;margin:0 0 10px 10px;" alt="" src="https://www.pointsincase.com/nathan/uploaded_images/cottonelle-764690.jpg" border="0" /></a>Me: So, my girlfriend cleaned my place, and in doing so, she managed to break my coffee pot and destroy my bathroom rug. So, her cleaning my place will end up costing me about forty dollars.<br />Bobby: That’s women for you: finding new and unusual ways to spend your money.<br />Me: Yeah. They’re great for that.<br /><br />Me: That was the worst game I’ve ever seen in my life. Those kids had no business being on a baseball field. I counted thirty three errors.<br />Kris: Yup, they sucked. I could have crapped a better game out of my ass. In fact, if I get the nuclear wings tonight, I probably will.<br />Me: If we had Jane Goodall and a few years, we could train chimps to play better than those boys played today.<br />Kris: Hell, I could probably teach the chimps to crap better games out of their asses.<br />Me: No. I think that’s more of a natural talent.<br />Kris: Yeah. I guess you’re right. My ass has talent.<br /><br />Me: Thanks for buying that toilet paper.<br />Court: Consider it the last gift I ever give your ass. Literally.<br /><br />Jenna: I’m changing my major to Creative Writing.<br />Me: That was my major.<br />Jenna: Really? What do you do with it?<br />Me: I write whatever I want.<br />Jenna: Does that pay well?<br />Me: Not unless your definition of “well” actually means “not at all.”<br />Jenna: Well, I can always fall back on my looks. What do you fall back on?<br />Me: Actually, I have to fall back on my brains.<br />Jenna: Ouch.<br />Me: Yeah. I know.<br /><br />Becky: I want to fuck you so bad.<br />Me: Like, right now?<br />Becky: No. I’m working right now. How about later?<br />Me: Well, I have a girlfriend. Do you think you could fuck her, too?<br />Becky: You’re kidding, right?<br />Me: No.<br /><br />Me: Thinking of it from a purely intellectual standpoint, it’s very difficult to limit the negative effects of perspiration while still reaping the physical advantages.<br />Kris: My balls itch.<br />Me: Exactly.<br /><br />Becky: Describe yourself in one word.<br />Me: No.<br />Becky: Interesting approach.<br /><br />John: I figured out why I drink so much.<br />Me: Why?<br />John: Can’t remember. I was drunk when I figured it out. But I certainly had impressed myself with my self awareness.<br />Me: So, you remember that you figured it out, but can’t remember what exactly you figured out?<br />John: Pretty much.<br />Me: That sucks.<br />John: Wait. I got it.<br />Me: What? You know why you drink so much?<br />John: It’s ‘cause I’m a drunk. And that’s what drunks do.<br />Me: Deep.<br />John: I’m like a philosopher.<br />Me: Except you’re not.

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