-When I dislocated my shoulder – mid-sex no less – in January, it did not bode well for the year to come. I was planning on starting the new year on a positive note, and instead began it on the floor, writhing in pain. However, as winter turned to spring (which in LA is about a two degree difference), things began to look up. From the Colorado River to Comedy Central, and the operating room to officiating a wedding, 2010 was a tumultuous year of firsts for me. Some memories I hope to recapture, others I wish I could forget, and, as usual, most I was too drunk to remember. This is my Year in Review.

-In March, I embarked on a camping and whitewater rafting trip in the Grand Canyon. As an avid indoorsman, it was the last thing I ever imagined doing. But I persevered. For ten days I slept under the stars, bathed in the Colorado River, and shat in the woods. The trip leader recently sent an email asking if any of us would be up for going again in 2011. I deleted the email, then permanently deleted the email from my trash, then blocked the sender’s address. God forbid I should ever be tempted to leave my apartment ever again.

-In July, after nine dislocations, I finally had my shoulder repaired. As a Giants fan, I had mixed feelings going into the procedure because my surgeon also operated on Tom Brady’s knee in 2008. When I awoke from the anesthesia, he asked how I was feeling, to which I replied, “Tom Brady sucks!” Last month, during my final post-surgical follow-up, I apologized for the outburst. He just smiled, but I swear he seemed rattled. The fact is, if Tom Brady ever gets hurt again and needs surgery, I’m totally in his doctor’s head.

-In September, I officiated the wedding of my friends Chi and Cat. They’re not very religious and wanted a more personal ceremony, so they decided to hinge the most important moment of their lives on whether or not I could stay sober for twenty minutes. Being sworn in as a civil marriage commissioner was the weirdest part. I had to go to the county courthouse the day before the wedding, raise my right hand, and swear to defend the Constitution and all this other weird shit I definitely did not sign up for. It’s bad enough I joined a couple together in holy matrimony, now I gotta fight terrorism too?

-In November, I was fortunate to have my first one-hour stand-up special premiere on Comedy Central. The best part was reading all the reactions. My favorite email came from a long-time fan in Jersey who got a nose job the day before the special aired, and then literally popped a stitch from laughing. She had to go back to the doctor the next day to have it fixed. The only way her story could have been better is if it was a celebrity plastic surgeon, and she woke up after the procedure and yelled, “Fuck Megan Fox!”

-As 2010 comes to a close, I find myself once again in the unenviable position of trying to figure out what to do on New Year’s Eve. In past years I’ve rampaged New York, Hollywood, Vegas, Montreal, Australia, and Uruguay, so I’m quickly running out of available locales to have an overpriced, overhyped evening of debauchery. This year, I’ve decided to keep it somewhat local and head north to San Francisco to hang with Chi and Cat. I mean, I did marry them, the least they can do is feed me and let me crash on their couch whenever I desire. Hanging out with married people goes against everything I stand for, but they’re a pretty good wingcouple. After all, getting hammered and laid on New Year’s Eve is my duty as an American, and I did swear to defend the Constitution.

-As always, here are some random things I’ve been ruminating about lately…

-I recently stayed in a fancy hotel where the mini bar was called an “honor bar.” Yet they still took inventory and charged me accordingly. A real honor bar would be one that said right on the price list: “Listen, we’re fucking you.”

-I test the bounds of early check-in when I travel. I once got to a hotel so early in the morning that the clerk tried to check me out before she realized I was actually checking in. She almost seemed disappointed that a room was available. Like I’m the big winner because I finagled an extra three hours of $12 Internet and a nap on a dirty bedspread.

-Nine times out of ten, when I get off the phone with one of my best friends, my first thought is, “Holy shit; he is clinically insane.” I can’t remember the last time I had a normal, human conversation with one of my buddies. I guess that’s why I love them.

-If you’re new to your job and you copied the template for your email signature from a co-worker, make sure you update the actual mailto link underneath. Otherwise, if someone clicks on your email address, it will actually send a message to your co-worker. If that message is “where did you get this stupid email signature?’ then you’re in trouble.

-I’ve never once been completely satisfied with dry cleaning. I’m not even talking about stain removal. I just want to get my shirts back without any weird creases or crinkles. This isn’t rocket science. It’s not that hard to iron a shirt. I’d do it myself if I knew how.

-Whenever I see one of those crazy showers with like twelve nozzles, I think: I can’t wait to just waste about 500 gallons of water right now. Environment be damned; I’m about to get clean in some places I didn’t even know existed.

-While on tour, I received a voicemail from the comedy club stating that “someone” would be picking me up from the airport in a Nissan Versa. Height, weight, or other physical description might have been helpful. Or naming a car I’ve ever heard of.

-I just realized that Solo cups (aka red keg cups) have been redesigned. They’re now square on the bottom for stability and have grooves on the sides to make them easier to grip. So basically a 75-year-old, multimillion-dollar corporation totally revamped their signature product just to improve its performance in beer pong. Best. Company. Ever.

-And, finally, the other day I called my buddy Brian, and as soon as he picked up I asked, “Are you a shaft shaver?” Crude I know, but it’s my favorite line from this season of “The League” on FX. Brian hung up immediately. Two hours later he called back and explained that he had been driving with his mom and picked up my call on the car’s Bluetooth. I had no sympathy. “Brian,” I said, “that’s on you. You know I say something disgusting every time I call.” To his credit, he conceded this point and admitted he was at fault. Those are just the risks of being friends with guys who are clinically insane. You can trust them with speaking at your wedding – but not with speakerphone. Fuck me.

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