Sunday, June 29, 2008

Some stuff...

My day started out pretty shitty yesterday. I woke up in the afternoon in a pool of what was mostly my sweat. Thinking it was a little hotter than usual in the apartment, I got up to check the thermostat. It was a cool 97 degrees inside. I knew our AC hadn't been acting that great, but I didn't know it was completely broken. Jon sent me a picture later where the thermostat simply read "01" because, unlike Jon's butthole, it has no place for a third digit. Wait, that kinda made me sound gay, huh?

I kinda felt like an asshole at work for reasons which I probably shouldn't. Jewelry counter girl randomly stopped me and asked what I ended up getting my mom for her birthday. This kinda caught me off guard because I had forgotten about that lie for the most part. It wasn't one of those "we were in the same place at the same time" forced, awkward small talks. She had actually walked past me and turned back around to get my attention. I made up some more shit about how I took my mom out to dinner. I was a little surprised she remembered having this conversation with me (I self-esteem is crazy high.) Truth is, my mom's birthday is in July and I haven't even seen her since mid May, and won't see her again until October.

I guess I felt bad because JCG seemed genuinely interested in what I got my mom. The only reason I talked to her in the first place was because I hoped it was a means to an end which hopefully included her not wearing any pants. I guess I'm a shallow douche and she's a nice person. I guess it's good that she's married.

Tonight I also realized that the best part of my work day is the two minutes JCG comes to the back to throw her trash away. And yes, I realize there's no part of that sentence that's not pathetic and/or creepy. Oh well.

Anyway, have a great rest of the weekend.

Friday, June 27, 2008


I'm not feeling too creative right now, so I'll just ask this simple question:

If you could be one inanimate object for three hours, what object would it be? Have at it, pervs! Also, what inanimate object would you least like to be?

Mine would be um...probably the needle that gave Megan Fox her tattoos. I think that would be about the only way there'd be any penetration between Megan Fox and myself. I'm not sure what I'd hate to be. I'll have to give that one some thought.

Have a great day, almost everyone!

Monday, June 23, 2008

Nice guys still finish ahead of the retards, right?

About a week ago I heard I was a "really sweet guy." Tonight, I was told that I was safe and "like a brother." Sigh. Ladies, these are not things a guy wants to hear from people not related to him. I'm like the mayor of the friend zone. Not that I was looking for any romantic anything with either situation (sure...I'll go with that,) but c'mon! I didn't even ask for either of these things to be said. I mean, I guess it's cool that people think I'm nice and sweet and stuff, but those are words used to describe the temperament of a puppy. I'm not a puppy. Maybe I'm crazy. Maybe I'm spontaneous. Maybe I'm some kind of crazy, spontaneous badass...but I'm not.

What am I? I'm not real sure. One thing I do know is that I'm a man of limited game. Even on those rare occasions when I show flashes of romantic suavery, it's more sad than it is awesome. I'm kinda like that time the basketball coach in New York put the autistic kid in the game and he proceeded to hit six threes in four minutes. After the game, I'm sure he strapped his helmet back on and went back to being normal. That's me. A romantic novelty. The blind squirrel theory of romance.

So as my good pal Andrea and I watched The Bridge tonight, she explained to me that I'm safe and I don't take any risks. That I'm a nice guy and maybe that's why things aren't happening for me in the lady department. Bluh. I guess I am nice, though. I don't really know how to fix that or if it's even something that need fixing. If I've learned anything from my years of perusing internet porn, it's that all kinds of people like all kinds of things (no matter how disgusting or girls to cup ratio'd.) So there's gotta be a woman out there that thinks it's pretty cool that I played the old NES version of super dodgeball on my computer for about two hours today. I don't mean to brag or anything, but I won the championship...a couple a times. If you aren't impressed by that, well, you just aren't impressible. Maybe there's a woman out there who doesn't mind being awake at 5 a.m. to watch Robin Meade's Morning Express with me, and who won't get pissed when I give a detailed list of reasons why Robin Meade is maybe the most perfect woman. She'll also hold me when I get pissed when Robin is on vacation and that way less hot lady is filling in. There's gotta be somebody out there like that, right? If not, that's cool too. At least I've got my health. Aww...where'd my health go?

And finally, I just want to say that George Carlin will truely be missed. George Carlin taught me how to properly use the word "cunt," and for that I will be forever grateful. Rest in peace, George.

Saturday, June 21, 2008

some things...

I hate most animals, but there's a special place in my heart for tiny, orange cats and raccoons. As I was coming home from work tonight, I saw a raccoon run across East College. I stopped and watched as he ran in front of my car to the other side of the street. As I accelerated again, a second raccoon ran out right in front of my car. Those who know me probably wouldn't reply "reflexes" when asked about my best quality. Needless to say, the poor little fella didn't make it. I felt really bad. I had a sick feeling in my stomach for a little while. I guess this is how I know I've kind of grown up. In the old days, I wouldn't usually bat an eye. I'd get out and check to see if anything happened to my car, but wouldn't care much about the furry woodland creature I just smashed. But now I just feel like an ass. I mean, there probably wasn't anything I could have done, but still...

In the store tonight, an Hispanic man walked up to me and, in broken English, inquired about a "camera that take the peeeecture and then one minute peeecture come out." I said, "a polaroid?" "Oh no, no, no. The peeeecture come out of the camera. One minute." "I think those are polaroids." "No, no. You not understand. The PEEEECTURE come out of the CAMERA!" Each time he said this, he took an imaginary picture with an imaginary camera, then pulled the "peeecture" out. Probably one of the most frustrating conversations I've ever had. Finally I said, "Oh! Those! Sorry, I think we're sold out." I wanted to fucking shake him. I'm not one of those "if you come to our country, you should learn English" people. But seriously...learn English if you have to talk to me. Well, unless you're a hot Hispanic chick that says "papi" a lot 'cause, well...that's just hot.

I saw a video of the guy who was riding with Hulk Hogan's kid when he got into that wreck. Wow. That guy is pretty fucked up. The whole front of his head is gone, and he's probably going to be in a coma forever. I don't know why they are keeping him alive. Even if by some miracle he does pull through, he's never going to be close to normal. If I ever get like that, somebody pull the plug. I want it to be an actual plug, though. Kenny, you do the honors.

Welp, that's about all the nonsense I have for tonight. Hope everybody has a good weekend. I hope some people come to terms with their weirdoness and embrace it. I hope I meet a lady down on her luck and low on her standards.

Wednesday, June 18, 2008

Dear Cowboys fans, I hear mass suicide isn't that bad.

Tonight I was talking to a coworker about football. I have a lot of respect for people who can hold a high-level football conversation with me. I'm kind of a football snob, I guess. Anyway, turns out he's a Cowboys fan. Not a big shocker since I live in Texas, but I would have never pegged him for a Cowboys fan, mostly because he knew what he was talking about and could speak without wiping slobber from his mouth.

For the most part, I hate Cowboys fans. There are a few exceptions, but the majority of them are hardcore dumbasses. Example:

We're having a nice conversation about how we think our teams are going to do this year. He says he thought the Steelers had a good draft (which they did.) I said I thought the Cowboys would win at least 12 games this season. Everything was civil until this old man who I work with decided he wanted to chime in. This guy is like 5'6" maybe. He has some pretty bad little man syndrome and he's always pissed off at something. He looks at me and says, "What are you talking shit about?" Beautiful way to barge into a conversation. The other guy explains to him that I'm a Steelers fan, to which he replies, "Ha! Steelers!" This immediately pissed me off and I asked him what he meant by that. He said that the Steelers weren't going to do shit this year. Then he went on to say that Ben's best years are way behind him and he will have another horrible year like he did last season because he's never recovered from the "motorcycle wreck and women troubles." He added that we needed to win another Superbowl to "catch up with Dallas."

This is why I hate Cowboys fans. They have no idea what the fuck they are talking about half the time. Even about their own team. First of all, Roethlisberger threw for over 3k yards last season (not that that's fantastic), 32 tds and 11 ints. He also had a 65.3 completion % and a qb rating of 109. He made the f'n pro bowl! And he's all of 26 years old, so I'm not sure where the "best years are behind him" thing came from. The motorcycle wreck was before the season before last. And as far as the "women troubles" comment, well, just look at him. I mean, I'm not gay or anything, but c'mon ladies. Am I right?

Meanwhile, Tony Romo, the Jesus of Dallas...
Single-handedly lost a playoff game two years ago when he fumbled a field goal hold against the Seahawks. Mention this to any Cowboys fan and they'll immediately reply with some shit about how the ball was slippery. You know, 'cause this was the first time in the history of the NFL that a ball has been slippery. The next season, he decided to go to Mexico with the dumbest fucking woman in the entire world a week before a playoff game. That's some pretty good focus, right? Then they lost.

So what's my point? I dunno really. I guess what I'm trying to say is that if you're a cowboys fan, the next time you have all your friends over to watch the 'boys play, go ahead and lock your doors and set your house on fire. We'll all be better off.

Thursday, June 12, 2008

Ladies, are you really this judgemental?

I saw this article on Yahoo earlier. I'm kinda shocked that Yahoo ran an article about ridiculously stupid shit (kidding. I hate Yahoo.) But seriously, do women judge men by what kind of food they eat? This can't be true, right? I mean Jimmy got married, and in the 5+ years of knowing him, I'm pretty sure I've only seen him eat pizza and macaroni & cheese and drink mountain dew.

So what does this say about me? I'm kind of a mixer and matcher when it comes to food. I also prefer some form of chip with every meal, too. What does that say about me? That I'm great? Probably.

And who the fuck orders game? And if a necrophiliac orders dumplings, does that still make him "cute as a dumpling?" I'm asking for a um...friend.

Tuesday, June 10, 2008


Some days I think there's some giant wheel somewhere that someone spins to determine how my day is going to go. Well, today the needle landed on "zit."

I briefly caught a glimpse of the monstrosity in the mirror before I turned away in horror. It's either a zit or the remnants of a conjoined twin. I'm scared to pop it for fear a femur may come out. I'm pretty tired, too. I guess I used quite a bit of energy building this thing in my sleep. Oh well. Maybe today is the day they replace me at work with robots and I can come back home and take a nap.

Also, a little off topic, but I was watching this guy on tv last night play the violin. He was a badass and all, but I've come to the conclusion that it's impossible to play a violin without looking like an extra-spazzy autistic kid.

Dumbest post ever. HAVE A GREAT DAY!!!

Monday, June 9, 2008

Why am I so bad at this?

Fresh off of the viewing of that guy getting rejected, I realized that it had been awhile since I got brutally shot down. Well, no reason to keep that streak up.

So there's this girl I work with. We'd exchanged pleasantries a time or two and she seemed really nice and my type. And by "my type," I mean any girl who isn't immediately repulsed by me has potential to be "my type." So about a week ago, I decided that I would brighten her day and make all her dreams come true by asking her out.

For some reason, I'm unable to ever ask a girl out like a normal person. I have to plan things out. Things always look good on paper, but never work in reality. I guess I'm kinda like a romantic Wyle E. Coyote if Wyle E. Coyote does that whole crying/masturbating thing that I do whenever he misses the roadrunner. I exaggerate a little. Sometimes I don't cry. (Be honest. You cringed a little when you pictured me masturbating just now, huh? Good...good.)

My buddy Josh has been witness to these awesomely horrible plans ever since we were kids and he's always told me that they're not going to work. This one felt right, though. Step one was just casual conversation. A joke ice breaker, perhaps.

She came back to the back one night to throw some stuff away while I was back there. We talked for a couple minutes and, once again, my "don't say stupid shit" filter failed to work as I made some ridiculous joke about crushing a small child with a pallet jack. Sometimes I wonder why God made me so smooth. She seemed to legitimately laugh and not one of those "I should humor this creepy guy" laughs. Not that I know what those are like. Step one went well.

Step two involved her job at the jewelry counter. Before work the next day, I was going to feign interest in my mom's upcoming birthday (kidding, Mom) and pretend to shop for a nice necklace for her, asking jewelry counter girl's advice...and also learning her name so I didn't have to refer to her as jewelry counter girl.

I went a few minutes before I had to clock in just in case things went badly or I was getting a bad vibe. Things went ok, though. She showed me some nice necklaces that actually had the word "mom" on them. The day I buy my mom something like that is the day she probably disowns me...more. I introduced myself, she introduced herself. Everything was going according to plan. It was kinda scary. "Eat that shit, Josh," I thought to myself. It was almost time to clock in so I told her I'd think about what I wanted to buy and I'd come back on my last break. She said she'd be there until 11.

Time for my last break rolled around, but we still had a shitload of stuff to do, so the guy were like, "eh, let's just go later. Like 11:15 or so." I snuck out around 10:45 to finish my master plan. I wasn't real sure exactly what I was going to say, but sadly, it involved going to the zoo. I realize how lame that sounds, but it was kind of a two birds with one stone thing. I really wanted to ask her out, but I also really wanted to go to the zoo. (They have some kickass white rhinos there.) So I approach the counter and she's just hanging out getting ready to go home. Nobody else is around so I don't have to worry about witnesses to this potential disaster. So I gathered up the residual confidence I had from Jimmy's wedding and headed on over to pretend to buy stuff again.

"You know, I think the stuff that says 'mom' on it is kinda cheesy," I said. She agreed and said that she would never buy her mom anything like that. Then she asked if my mom wore a watch and directed me to the watch display. Never intending to actually purchase anything for my mom, I was kind of caught off guard at this question and I really couldn't remember whether or not she did wear a watch. "Hmm...I don't really know. Is that bad?" I asked. "No. You're a guy. Guys don't notice things like jewelry. It's just something in your makeup." Eerie foreshadowing. "Yeah. I guess you're right." Then just as my mouth opened to probably say something stupid about rhinos, she said, "My husband doesn't pick up on little details sometimes. It's ok."

So that's where my plan ended. I mean, I could have totally stolen her from her husband and all, but I didn't want to be a dick. He's probably a nice guy.

I honestly don't know how I didn't see the wedding ring. Those things should glow or beep or something so I don't look like an idiot. I told her I changed my mind and I'd probably just get my mom a gift card or something 'cause nothing says thanks for all those hours of labor like a gift card. She laughed. We said our goodbyes and I slunk (?) back to the back room.

The universe pooped on me once again. Probably not the universe's fault, though. I was kind of a dumbass on this one. I realized two things, though. One, I'm pretty horrible at this kind of thing and two, hot girls are usually only nice to me when they are married, in a committed relationship, live several states away or mistake me for Drew Carey.

Thursday, June 5, 2008

An uncomfortable moment that, for once, didn't directly involve me

Tonight as I was moving some stuff to the other side of the store, I knocked over a display. It wasn't a big deal. I do it quite a bit because I'm lazy and don't pay attention too often after 11 p.m. While I was stopped picking things up, a scene unfolded in front of me that was both hilarious and painful to watch all at the same time. Kinda like if a car full of clowns ran into your grandma. It was uncomfortable to watch, but I couldn't look away.

There was this cute girl looking at silk flowers or whatever it is that girls buy at 11:30. She was pretty into what she was doing and oblivious to what was going on around her. Well, except for me knocking over like 10 coolers into the aisle. She laughed a little when I did that. I was cool with it, though. Most of the time I leave my self-respect in the car before I come to work. Anyway, as she was looking at fake tulips or whatever, this Hispanic guy with a budding afro walks past her and then does one of those recognition double takes.

"Hi there, (whatever her name was)," he said.
"Oh, hi, (his name). It's been awhile."
"Heh...we talked yesterday."

At this point, I kinda started paying attention. I could tell something bad was going to happen. I guess pathetic recognizes pathetic.

So long story short, he says something like, "do you want to hang out sometime?" I heard this as I was getting up to leave. She looked over at me, almost as if she was embarrassed that another person was about to witness the lady brutality she was about to lay down on this guy. Then I saw her give him the "stalling for time" smile and I felt bad. I'd been in Curly McMexifro's zapatos a time or twelve and I could see what was about to happen.

As I rounded the corner to the back room, I heard her say, "I don't know. I don't think that's a good idea." Poor guy.

What did I learn from this? I learned that while my own misfortune really sucks, other people's is pretty awesome and hilarious.

Monday, June 2, 2008


1. I've realized that I don't really feel sorry for anybody these days. I'm not sure what it is, but I guess I lack empathy to a certain degree. Case in point, people in wheelchairs. I mean, I don't hate all people in wheelchairs. I'm sure there have been some great ones. But there are those who think they are entitled to shit because they can't walk. It would suck to not be able to walk. I know that. The other night in the store, I was pulling this gigantic pallet of dog food. This thing probably weighed 800+ pounds. I'm going at a pretty good pace to the other side of the store when this guy wheels out in front of me like he owns the fucking place. I had to slam on the brakes, almost getting crushed in the process. No reason for us both to be paralyzed, asshole. Then he looks at me like I'm an asshole for not having some fucking spider sense to tell me when some guy is going to dart out in front of me. I'm sorry. I'm not the one who paralyzed you. I mean, I wish ALS upon people sometimes, but I didn't even know this guy. He knew I was coming. That thing is loud as hell. Ugh. If it would have fallen and I would have had to restack it, I probably would have dumped him out.

And another thing...just because your feet don't work doesn't mean you don't have to wear shoes. People have nasty feet. At least wear some socks.

2. Plumb. Why haven't I heard of Plumb before two nights ago. From what I can tell, she's been around for awhile. I'm usually not this oblivious about music-related things. She sounds kinda like Amy Lee without all the bitchiness and the not returning my letters/calls/bags of kittens. I've had to break out the headphones again because I don't think Jon or probably the people who live under me appreciate Plumb as much as I do.

3. I'm torn. I haven't shaved in awhile and, wait for it....waaaaaaait for it...there's visible facial hair! I'm pretty excited. I try not to get too excited, though. I don't want to scare it off. My problem is that, in order for it to eventually grow out, I'm probably going to have to go through this awkward "I should probably shave" stage for awhile. My question is this: is it worth it? Ladies? Facial hair a good enough thing to endure this unkempt douchebag phase?

4. People keep telling me I should set goals for myself. I guess my goal of not dying by choking on food isn't good enough on its own. I should apparently make better goals. Well, I've made a goal, but it doesn't really involve me. I just want to help. Maybe I'm wrong, but I see this situation playing out around me, and it's like watching a movie that has a good ending but a beginning and middle that make it so excruciatingly painful to watch that you almost walk out. The parties involved might not want my help. I thought about that for while and realized I don't really care what they want. So yeah. I'm helping. And it's going to be great. You're welcome in advance. I'm working on a strategy.

5. Yahoo writes the dumbest fucking articles this side of that paper I used to work for when I worked for it. Look at this article I just read. It's basically saying, "Hey, fuck it...follow your dreams. Anybody can do it. Anybody who is getting paid a shitload already. You'll be fine!" What about guys like me? Where are our inspirational stories? Maybe I want to open my individually wrapped cracker-sized cheese factory or the baby bird-themed restaurant that grinds your food up for you and pours it in your mouth. Maybe I want to do that. Should I quit my lucrative job? I mean, I am pulling down "receiving associate" money.

6. I really think these horns have some kind of magical powers. Seriously. Since I um...happened upon these horns, it seems like everything is coming up Dale. Forget a career, love, happiness and all that stuff. I think I was just missing these horns. They've really pulled my life together. I hope Jimmy's dad didn't get a bill from the place where they disappeared.