Jim Varagona

Category: wife

>My Friend Joins the Ranks of Kidder, Downey, & Heche

>It used to be more commonplace to hear of celebrities found wandering in delusion like when Robert Downey Jr. was found asleep in a neighbor’s house that he wandered into under the influence in 1996. He was in a club with Anne Heche, Margot Kidder, and even Martin Lawrence for similar episodes.

The genius behind TV Funhouse on SNL, Robert Smigel, satirized this phenomenon well back in 2006 with the short “Kidder, Downey, & Heche–Private Trespassing Investigators” (try this link, but due to copyrights, it may not last long and you may have to seek it out). I’ve always wondered how people can get to such a point…until a couple of weeks ago.

My wife was working the graveyard shift and I hadn’t spent much time with my friend and best man, Dan, lately, so I invited him over for some beers. I only drank a few in a couple of hours. I thought the same for Dan, but he apparently had done some prepping for our low-key man night. I think I witnessed him drink three beers. He did however smoke a bit of the doobage, of which I did not partake in, but it really didn’t seem like enough to drive a man to what I would witness.

After what seemed like a few tokes, he lost his bag and began searching my yard in the dark for it. It certainly was a bummer. Days later, I realized my puppy found the bag, which didn’t have much besides stems left in it anyway. I convinced Dan to give up, that maybe he smoked it all and the celophane evaporated.

We came inside and listened to some music, but within a half hour he was asking to crash on my couch. I obliged and hit the hay shortly after around 1 AM.

Around 8 AM, my wife arrived home asking what happened to Dan.

“Well, he had a bit too much and passed out on the couch.”

“His shoes are on the floor and his phones on the table, but he’s not on the couch,” she told me.

“Maybe he’s outside smoking.”

“But both doors are locked.”

Puzzled, I looked around. Knowing this was my friend that wandered onto the field after the Cardinals won the Series in ’06, I considered every possibility. I looked in closets and under the bed. No Dan.

I saw that the basement door was open, so I thought maybe he escaped through there, but the doors to the outside were locked as well. And why would he go far without his shoes? I looked around every nook and cranny of our dingy city basement to no avail.

We sat in our front room to ponder the situation. I then heard footsteps above me in my landlady’s unit. It was a tad early for them. Half jokingly, I suggested that he got upstairs and they discovered him.

The footsteps got faster and went back and forth. My wife and I followed the commotion with our eyes and heads like curious puppy dogs. There was some fast running down the stairs and then Dan appeared at my front door.

In disbelief, I could only keep saying “What the fuck?!” and “You have to leave.”

He claimed that they were cool about it, but also thought we were involved with this as some sort of joke. I thought the same of him, but I know better.

He left after we kept pushing, then we frantically thought about how to handle our neighbors. Do I call? Do I text? Do I play it off or consider this a serious problem that will be taken care of? What were they thinking at the time after discovering a strange yet unassuming hippy asleep on their couch?

I texted her to meet me on the porch to chat. I walked out back where they have a screened in porch and looked up at my landlady and her boyfriend. They looked like two pissed off parents after you get home late from a night of partying. Then the busted into laughing. I nervously joined in.

When he awoke, seeing their faces, he asked “Where am I?” Luckily they were nice and explained what they figured was going on. They considered lying to him and making him believe he was states away…Laramie, Wyoming…yeah, that’s the ticket. Around 3 that morning, our boxer, Sadie was at their door to the basement and it got the attention of their dog who began wimpering. The landlady simply told Sadie to go back to bed, but didn’t realize that my dog was there to tell her that a hippy had wandered into her unit. He must’ve quietly sleptwalked onto their couch, unnoticed until their 8 AM discovery.

My wife and I laughed with them for awhile about this, which was strange enough, but even moreso considering how early it was for us. I couldn’t go back to sleep, so we walked the dogs and avoided the homeless.

Dan’s been calling, but I am without words. How did Robert Downey Jr.’s friends handle him after he was found asleep in some kid’s bed that he wandered into?



>My Dogter, The Victim

>After an easy day at work last week, the wife and I decided to take our dogter for a walk and pick up dinner while we were out. Gray skies loomed overhead though in a physical and metaphorical sense.

We arrived at our local St. Louis Bread Co. (Panera Bread to non-St. Louisans–yes, it is ours) with a light drizzle falling. My wife went inside to order the eats. I took Sadie, our boxer, over to some sidewalk seating to wait. A rough looking homeless man was at the table adjacent to ours.

“That’s a boxer, right?”


At that point, I was actually quite impressed that he recognized her breed, considering most people think she is a pit bull for some reason. He asked me to bring her over, to which I did. He pet her and seemed so pleased. I was happy to make an unfortunate person’s day for a minute even. He explained how he had a full bred boxer as a child. Her name was Sadie too. He kept saying how good looking my Sadie was.

My wife came out while waiting for her pager to go off signalling the food was ready. The man told us we should breed Sadie, but we said she was fixed. He kept saying he didn’t understand no matter how many times and different ways we tried to explain it. She needed a companion, he kept saying. She needs a man.

She was perfect though. The right color and everything.

The rain started to come down. We moved under the little bit of shelter available outside the front entrance. My wife went inside to check on the grub.

The man followed Sadie and I and pet her as we stood in the rain, which was quickly appearing to be a monsoon. She sit and let him do so. It felt good to put a smile on his face. He did ask for money, but I explained we didn’t carry cash on our walks, which was true. He seemed to take it okay and said he knew we were good folks and would give to him if we could.

My wife started coming outside with dinner, but the rain was starting to come down sideways, so we moved into the lobby area of the establishment. Yes, we had our dog, but these were special circumstances. Once again, the homeless man followed. He had a seat towards the rear of the area while we stood closer to the door.

We watched the winds collapse umbrellas on three different people. It didn’t look like we’d be moving anytime soon. We thought about calling my mother-in-law who lives closeby, but that was nixed because we didn’t have pocket space to bring a phone.

He called Sadie to him to pet her and I smiled at him. His voice was rough. It had a Black Jesus quality to it.

She stuck her butt right out at him, waiting for him to pet it. The homeless man obliged and rubbed her beautiful coat. So perfect. He took one look at her positioning and told us, “She’s horny, see.”

“No, she just is friendly and wants attention,” I replied.

A woman walked through the lobby. She glanced down at Sadie and the man and made a gruesome face. Confused, I smiled back. She ran into the rain, turning back at us and screaming something unintelligible. I looked down at the two new friends and the man was rubbbing my dogter’s genitals. There was full motion that made it easily identifiable, yet unbelievable. I was in shock. He had reached third base with her, with us present.

If someone were to present the situation as a hypothetical, I’d say I’d stomp on his crotch, kick him in the face, and tell him off. The shock of the situation overcame us though. I yanked Sadie away and stared into the storm. Never would my wife run out into something like that, but she agreed and we did.

We screamed as we ran through the rains across the busy street. We had to run what had just happened by eachother to confirm it. I felt horrible and disgusted. I felt guilt for not annihilating the animal that I thought I was just being friendly to by letting him pet my dog.

It all made sense. He kept saying she was perfect and needed a companion. I think he already had an agenda. Having no home and not being able to afford a prostitute, what’s a guy like that to do? I would never come to the conclusion of getting his jollies from a dog in front of its owners, but now I can.

We raced home throught the storm, which was still close to full force. We felt disgusting and wondered what Sadie was thinking. Once we arrived home we put our wet dinner to the side and gave Sadie a hot bath to rid her of any of that man’s germs. I thought about what exactly he was doing back there. Did he stick to one entry point? How long was he doing that before we caught on? Does this make me a horrible father?

It’s been a while since this happened, but it still affects me when I look at my dog or go near that part of the neighborhood where this occured. My wife doesn’t want to discuss it and is considering leaving the neighborhood, which we couldn’t imagine ourselves leaving until this incident. So when walking you best friend, be weary of where folks are petting, and stay away from those that may be needing some sexual healing.

My dogter, the victim

>Dirty Work

>On a recent walk in the park with my wife and dogter, Sadie, something interesting occurred that I must share.

Just as with any other walk, Sadie had to make her BM. We waited by patiently as she made her waste and I proceeded to pick it up, like a good citizen. Sadie began walking strangely, like a dog does when it has some poo that wouldn’t come off. Sometimes this is followed by the dog doing a fun trick in which it sits and uses its front paws to drag its butt across the most handy surface, which sometimes is the carpet.

Sadie doesn’t really do that though. She just walk funny with her back legs squatting like she’s being held down by a substantial weight in the rear.

I must note that more often than not with our dogter, it isn’t poo on her butt, but my wife’s long blonde hair that are hanging halfway out of Sadie’s rear. And yes, sometimes I put a plastic bag over my hand to pull them out.

This time though, the wife noticed that something was hanging. I did my fatherly duty and used my protected hand to pull at what most likely was hair. The problem is that it kept flowing out. When I had removed the entire item, we realized just what it was. It was a giant spaghetti noodle coated in poo particles. And to Sadie’s relief, I had removed it from her butt hole.


>Wedding of the Week

>The wife and I were mentioned as the Wedding of the Week story last week on the St. Louis Post Dispatch’s StlToday.com site. Since their links go bad after a few weeks, I cloned it and put it here on my site.

It’s weird having someone interview you and select quotes from what seemed like a normal conversation to assemble into a condensed version of events.

>Things Have Changed


“People are crazy and times are strange
I’m locked in tight, I’m out of range
I used to care, but things have changed.”

–Bob Dylan, Things Have Changed

Bobby is right, times are strange. And it’s odd how I can gauge that. Last night, the annual draft for the NBA occured. That is when the general managers and other head honcho’s for the 30 teams in the National Basketball Association get together to pick players from college teams and other international organizations to better their own teams.

For some reason, even though I am not always the biggest fan of watching basketball on TV, I get a great kick out of the business of it. That goes for a lot of sports. In fact, when I play the video game versions, I spend more time on the business aspect of thins than playing the actual games.

I began watching the NBA draft in 1992, for 2 primary reasons–Shaquille O’neal and Anthony Peeler. Shaquille was touted as an animal athelete. He was 7 feet and 1 inch tall and around 300 pounds of man. The Orlando Magic drafted him with the first pick, which they earned through a lottery of the worst teams. He was to be their savior. Shaq did take them to the NBA Finals during the 1995-96 season, but left them in the following offseason for the L.A. Lakers.

During that 1992 NBA Draft, the Lakers selected Anthony Peeler with the 15th pick. Peeler was from the University of Missouri, and the first big pick from my area since Anthony Bonner went to the Sacramento Kings as the 23rd pick in the 1990 Draft. It was exciting since this type of thing didn’t happen often. Peeler’s career hasn’t amounted to much, except for him being a solid player to have off the bench. He did lead the league in three point field goal percentage during the 2003-04 season with the Washington Wizards.

We know where Shaq’s career has gone. He just nabbed his 4th NBA title ring with the Miami Heat, the team he left the Lakers for in 2004 after some public feuding with Kobe Bryant.

Since that amazing draft in 1992 that reeled me into the drama of the business of sports, professional basketball in particular, I have watched it every year, at least the first round, since. Keep in mind, I am not the jocky, sporty type of guy. I fit into a more dorky, nerdy mold, if any.

During my high school years, this annual observance involved my good friend, Picklehead, who shared the same passion as I did. We even incorporated the video games, by creating many of the drafted players and trying them out on their new teams. After I graduated, I still watched, but with less enthusiastic parties, that laughed at me for my enjoyment of the business and not the sport itself.

It still was a ritual for me that lasted until this year. It wasn’t because the prospects for the draft weren’t as good, which they weren’t. It wasn’t that I didn’t have anyone to share my love for it with, which I haven’t in a while. My wife thinks it is silly, as much as some of my previous friends have.

Things have changed though.

I have moved out of my parents’ place, becoming more independent, but with that, poorer and without cable. Now I am married and currently jobless.

I did have the internet to keep up to date on the happenings of the Draft, but it wasn’t the same. Seeing names appearing on my screen wasn’t like watching it all unfold with predictions from commentators and interviews with the draftees, who are now all younger than me, and once their name is announced, much richer than I will ever be.

That’s how this country works though. In a way, it is still a beautiful thing. Within seconds, one can become a millionaire, based on athletic prowess, or some other talent, which probably doesn’t deserve a pile of money. We pay to see their show for us, though, whether it be professional basketball or some rock star playing a guitar on a stage of pyrotechnics, because it’s an escape from the nonsense of our daily lives. We can’t bash them for that, because we fund their lives.

I think I’ll go shoot some hoops now…shit…can’t, I have a job interview.

>Blog of a Married Diabeto–a review of the nuptials and honeymoon


The happy Diabeto’s, now in married flavor!

To answer the first question people have naturally been asking me, it feels exactly the same. That’s not to say none of what has happened in the last 3 weeks has not been special. The past 5 years have pretty much been a trial marriage with my Russian grandmother, so this is simply the formalizing of it all. Before, we were happy together, like The Turtles’ tune, and now we are happily married.

An amazingly flush Diabeto and the Brothers Pinoy

I’d like to thank everyone that shared the occasion with us and those that wished us well. Even the Filipinos and that dirty old man I work with graced us with their presence. Special thanks to the Don for his gift of a set of stainless steel Knorks. We are forever indebted to him.

The ceremony was held at The Jewel Box in Forest Park, here in St. Louis. The weather cooperated and things went swimmingly. Best man Dan Roth managed to keep the rings in his posession until it was time for them to be exchanged. We were so appreciative of this feat achieved by our hippy friend.

At the reception, Dan was a real hit with his speech, during which he quoted Bob Dylan by using his line “How many roads must a man walk down, before you call him a man?” and said I must’ve walked down my last road. He also said something about my bride and I sailing away into the horizon, which makes me wonder if he got the brown acid. He also did a great rendition of Patsy Cline’s “Crazy” with my sister’s friend Cara, whcih makes one wonder further (click to watch the video).

My new sister-in-law, Amy, gave a heart wrenching toast, which quoted my first words to her…”I’m bleeding.” When I went to pick her older sister up for our first date, she approached me at my vehicle to tell me that if I hurt her sister, she would kick my ass. All I could say was “I’m bleeding,” because I just rushed out of the house with a bad shave.

Photos from the wedding and reception will be available for viewing at Collages.net until 7/27. The event name is VARAGONA and the password is 9478. Enjoy.

My babushka and I went on our honeymoon to Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. It’s great to forget about what time of the day it is, what day of the week it is, and who you are, all without having horribly much to drink. The only drawback is that I get patchy burns in the sun. You’d think my Italian blood would put me more on par with my Pinoy brethren, but my midsection ended up looking more like Gorbachev’s head.

We did go parasailing, but have yet to develop the photos. That is probably for the best, considering I was whining like Woody Allen, because the knot didn’t look secure and we were over water that I couldn’t see through, except for the masses of jellyfish, that I later found out were an order whose sting couldn’t hurt humans.

The best part of the honeymoon was that we accidentally went during Bike Week, which happens every Memorial Day weekend. First the Harley boys and girls come through town and take over. We missed them. Then the sport bikers come through, which is mainly made up of young black men. Behind 80% of those men on their bikes, was a large assed black female, with variations of decoration on their buttocks, ranging from fishnet to thong to a lightly draped short skirt. We sure did get a kick out of all of the cottage cheese we got to see. Although I did not get a photo of the real thing, the following t-shirt on sale there, illustrates this amazing sight.

And then it was back to the rat race of the IRS and our new married life. We’ll always have those asses though.


>Just Married

I was married on Sunday to my gal of 5 years, Shannon. Can’t you tell from the look on her face that she wanted me? We’ll be away for awhile, so stay tuned for my return after the first week on June.


>How I Met My Future Wife–Pt. I


I will be wed in about a week now. It’s not too much of a frightening thought, because I am practically married now. The only real nerve wracking part is dealing with all of this formality. Granted I have not done much to actually get ready for this wedding, not by my choice, but still just watching Shannon try to organize all of this with the musicians, the DJ, the photographer, the flowers, the officiant, the wedding site, the reception hall, the cake, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah…I go nuts too.

When it comes to this point in someone’s life, one common question is “how did you kids meet?” I am starting a series of blogs, beginning with this one, to answer just that. You may be thinking that you don’t want to hear some long, sappy story of love at first sight and puppy dog eyes. You shant get that here. I give different stories for how we met. They are all true, but I can’t pick just one as the time we first met. It’s not fair.

I was down on my luck with the ladies back in early 2001. My buddy Josh had made some attempts to introduce me to ladies. We even tried spraying brandy on each other with a syringe before going to parties, so girls thought we were already drunk, but sadly it did not work.

One day he told me that the Sexy Mex and her friend Shannon were to come over my place. It was awkward because he was doing this for me and I had never met these gals before. To help myself relax, I decided to wear my official Diabetoboy helmet. I used it when I rolled down hills and performed comedic routines in it when my blood sugar went too low.

The girls arrived and I was quite taken by Shannon, the blonde. I’m not sure if Josh noticed this or not, but to lighten the mood, he decided it would be a good idea to have a lap dance contest amongst myself, him, and Chuck, a big boy that Josh worked with and that I knew from grade school. I don’t remember the songs played, but I know we were playing a lot of Tom Jones and Prince back then, so you can get an idea.

Josh and I showing off our mad skills

The other two schmucks were nothing compared to me. I stood on the couch over Shannon and shook what my Mother gave me (Happy Mom’s Day by the way). I even involved a prop. A device I acquired from my late Uncle John that looked like a corded phone base with a triangle shaped plastic piece corded to it came in handy. It was actually to be used for patients with pacemakers to phone their doctors and let the doc hear the unit. I enjoyed the “bleep” and “bloop” sounds it made though, so I rubbed it on my chest seductively as it made its music.

Needless to say, I won the contest, but after the scores were announced, Shannon withdrew my win and gave it to Josh, simply because she knew him better and felt weird about letting a stranger win.

I still won’t let her live that down, but I still got her in the end. And every once in a while, we will break out that noisemaking device for fun.



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