Sugar-free Pain

My mother is diabetic. Therefor, the only sweet treats she is able to consume are those sans sugar. The sugar-free spree has been a large national craze lately, not only for diabetics but for weight-loss fanatics alike. Strangely enough, many of said candies taste strangely "normal", if I'm allowed the term. However, because of the sugar substitutes in these candies, the effects of the treats cannot be completely predictable in all people. For example, one of my favorite all-time candies are dark chocolate-covered almond clusters. Simply delicious. My mom was given a box of See's sugar-free dark-chocolate covered almond clusters as a present. I put one in my mouth and was awakened with a childish joy, so profoundly intoxicating that my senses overwhelmed themselves in the light of such joy. So I had another.

Maybe I am experiencing the highly controversial phenomenon of Male-pattern PMS, but after those almond clusters, I searched the cupboards and found a small container filled with sugar-free gummy bears. I ate a handful and was thoroughly satisfied.

Two hours later I found myself glued to the toilet with diarrhea commitments. My bowels were terrorized by a joy unspeakable. Sugar substitutes do not agree with me. I know that now. Please believe me, people. If you enjoy candy, please exercise extreme restraint with those of the sugar-free varieties.

The Myspace Effect: Part 2

Top eight.

What is the adoration with the dreaded "top" list of friends? I understand it was originally designed to show the people with whom one is to come into the most contact with. Cool. But now the top 8, 12, 16, mother-fucking-20? I haven't done the necessary studies, but I would confidently assert that those who had a larger top list also had more "friends" on Myspace. I would further assert that the vast majority of said persons would in fact be female (sans penis). With the given data, I feel it safe to make certain assumptions.

First, I think that these Myspace girls should be considered Myspace sluts. Yes, I said it. Not in the sexual arena from which most slut-based connotations are derived, but in an alternate variance of the term slut. In modern vernacular, the term slut suggests one (be it man or woman) who does something compulsively and without moderate decency. I think this to be befitting to the 'Myspace slut' I am speaking of. These people spend hours upon hours a day, not only showing scandalous, often intoxicated pictures of themselves and comment religiously to only a small percentage of their said friends. Who in their right mind needs to have 250+ people? I would give any girl a dollar per name for telling me where they met friends 75+ and on. That's some bullshit. It's like a high school popularity contest. And back to the top 8.

What's the big fucking deal? If you don't talk to somebody in 7 or 8 months, and they replace you with somebody they talk to more frequently, then piss off! Nobody wants to hear your ranting and raving about how your feelings are hurt. In reality, you are the asshole. And I hate the excuse, "Sorry I haven't written in a while. I've been super busy". That's why instant messaging and subsequent Myspace were invented, to keep in touch with those who you lost touch with. Now, one surely can't call, and it has gone as far as being too busy to type in, "Hi. been busy lately, but just thinking about you." You don't have to hear despair in somebody else's voice, no need to be on the phone for hours, and still we have lost the ability to do that such thing. It is kind of sickening.

Myspace sluts. Not nearly as cool as they sound.

A List of My Dislikes: Part 2

once again, in no particular order...

1. This one is two-fold. It has to deal with animals. I love animals, don't get me wrong. What I dislike is: a) When people think it is funny to use people's voices to express an animal's supposed opinion in commercials for animal products. For example, the IAMS commercials. Dogs don't talk. We all know that. It's not funny or cute when you place a voice with an animal. Really; get a life. b) When people dress up their animals, take pictures of them, then place those photos online with stupid little captions. For example, check this website out Stupid Cats Or like when the people submit the videos of their squirrels water skiing with stupid little helmets.

2. I dislike it when, in local company commercials, the children are featured speakers. Here's a newsflash: children don't possess the proper vocalics - voice intonation, assertive voice, timing or any other effective delivery approach. What that means to me: It annoys the living crap out of me. Your child(ren) are not cute. They are not entertaining. Their shrill voices hammer and drone with great stiletto force into the nether-regions of my cranial cavity. Half the time you can't even understand what the kids are saying because they are either laughing or two blinks shy of being completely retarded. Kids, I can deal with. But don't put them in your commercials. If you do, and I find out where you live, I will dedicate every night for the rest of my life to urinating inside your mailbox.

3. If you really want to ruffle my feathers, then use the term "Livin' the dream" when asked how they are doing. Example:

-Hey, Joe. How's it going?
-Just livin' the dream, Gary. Just another day in paradise.

NOBODY in their right mind is that happy with their job. Even Mary Poppins wasn't that happy. Just a spoonful of sugar my ass. A spoonful of sugar to chase the fifth of whiskey she had to drink each night in order to sleep. Plus, livin the dream just sounds so absurdly gay. Not gay in a homosexual sense, but more so the social adaptation of it meaning stupid, pathetic, lame or any other derogatory connotation. Some guy said it to me the other day. He worked at the burger stand. If his dreams equate to no more than plugging his facial pores with airborne particles of grease and unsanitary minutia so his one zit can soon have many, many friends, then he may as well join the military.

For today, these are things I dislike.

The Myspace Effect: Part 1

Myspace has gained unfathomable popularity. From its humble beginnings in 2003, it seems that no conversation is complete without the mention of this phenomenon. It truly says something about human nature. Once a place to connect with one's friends, has now become a breeding ground for vain adoration and superficial personification.

There is the common question of whether artistic and literary eras influenced the works that were being produced, or whether the works being done influenced the movements that defined the era. I find something similar with Myspace. Were girls desperate to be seen as sluts before Myspace, or has the accessibility, popularity and faux security of Myspace made girls want to be seen as morally deficient ho-bags, waiting for the next person to comment on their airbrushed pictures? I wonder... I wonder how many of these young girls' mothers and fathers see the scandalous pictures many of them post on their pages.

And it's not just young girls receiving the criticism. How many accounts have made headlines in recent media for school teachers posting pictures of themselves in a bikini on a beach, and being publicly humiliated for it? Dating websites in the past ten years have made much headway. However, with the exponential popularity of Myspace, those online dating services had to evolve to stay a part of the game. I posit that a majority of the people who post pictures of them with obvious expectations of praise and lustful admiration do so in an attempt to appeal to somebody equally as vain, and most likely as shallow.

Yeah, you can feel good about yourself. That's fine. But do you really need to dwell on yourself that much? If you are at the beach in a bikini and people are looking, that's fine. But I would hope you don't stand in front of a mirror all day at the beach and admire yourself. I would hope that you don't pass out flyers telling people how attractive you are. I would hope you don't have a booth with questionnaires addressing how fuckable you are. I don't know many people that would do that. So why would you post pictures, implying the same notions but over a global market? I guess it's a cheap form of exhibition. It has to be kind of a rush; putting yourself out there, at the grace or disposal of Joe Anybody, and hoping for the best.

I usually assume people who post such pictures usually have nice bodies, and usually are attractive. I notice this and I ask myself, If they are already pretty and have nice bodies, why would they need more recognition? Following the logic, I naturally assume these girls have ever-increasing egos. Understanding that life is all about balance, and being the great social equilibrium that I am, I take time out of my busy day to make rude comments about their superficiality or flawed outfit. I do this not for pleasure, but to let them know that they aren't that great. And if they were, they wouldn't have to sell themselves on a free website. Just in case they don't believe me, I typically provide 3-5 links of girls who are equally attractive, with equally nice bodies, and who have the same predictable hobbies and taste in music.

My point: Myspace isn't bad. I like it. I have a Myspace account. I like girls. I like girls and I like Myspace. But I can't stand superficial wannabe slutty girls. If they really wanted people to see what they wear in those pictures, they would wear that shit all day long, in the mall and grocery store. We all have to grow up, ladies; no matter how your are rebelling against your father or how many times you have been divorced. Get a life.

California Universal Healthcare

It's about time. Though it is not here yet, and though it hasn't been decided on entirely, there is a possibility for Californians to one day have universal health care coverage. Being one who has never really given a flying rat carcass about true political happenings, this makes me happy. Check out the article in the NY Times by clicking on the link to this blog post. Although, what does disappoint me is this: the fact that some politicians agree with the concept of everybody having health insurance made available to them, but some argue that the plan would be a monetary disaster. I mean, for the love of Pete, this would cost a lot of money. Please review this website The Cost of War and tell me if you find those statistics ridiculous. The plan discussed in the NY Times is pertinent only to Californians (some other states have already adopted such policies). But here is an interesting stat; for what is costs us to be at war in Iraq for 9 months, the ENTIRE COUNTRY of the grand 'ol USA could be insured. 9 months. We have been there, oh, I don't know, almost six years-ish. 6 years times 12 months in a year equals 72 months. That means, with the amount of money we have spent, the US population could have been covered eight times over. Granted, I realize we are at war for one reason or another, bla bla bla. War isn't my issue at this point in time. But for years the notion of blanket health insurance has been a large concern. But for years politicians have found easy escapes from it, threatening to raise taxes beyond recognition to compensate for such things. Somehow, though, we have found a way to spend $275 million per day, that's $4,100 per household, per day. Correct me if I'm wrong; we originally went to war to show that USA is not to be messed with. We are still there to implement a new government and help THOSE people. What is so wrong with helping our own?

A List of My Dislikes: Part 1

in no particular order...

1. Wal Mart. Let me explain; I don't necessarily dislike saving money. I like money. I want to have more. But I hate the fact that in my town, at 10:30 on Saturday night, Wal Mart is the liveliest place around. All of the bars and clubs combined couldn't hold a candle to the chaos that is late-night Wal Mart. Also, I loathe the scent upon arrival. They always place a stupid little McDonald's right in the very front of the store. That way, after the unnecessarily friendly shopping cart man breathes all over you and says all-too-joyously, Welcome to Wal Mart, one is immediately bombarded with the putrid stench of the culinary abortions more commonly referred to as 'french fries'. The stale aroma of plastic meat and day-old pickles is enough to dissuade one from considering fast food a better choice than good old-fashioned regurgitation.

2. Jamiroquai. That guy straight sucks. I wish there was a more elegant or elaborate explanation, but no such thing exists. He doesn't make music. His voice turns the healthy, sick; nuns to witches.

3. Global warming. Let me paint a picture. You have a girlfriend. She is loving, sweet, smart and all things attractive to you. One day you are walking in, let's say, the mall. Suddenly you see a girl you went to high school with and proceed with the courtesy five-minute catch-up, then leave. One of your girlfriend's friends happens to witness you talking to, OMG, another girl! So she tells your girlfriend that you are cheating with some mall skank, and your girlfriend blows it completely out of proportion, and never trusts you again. That's how I feel about Global Warming. Kids are doing poorly in school? Must be global warming. We go to war with Osama? Hell, blame that on global warming. The tomatoes in your garden are either bigger and jucier or smaller and fewer than ever before? You can attribute either to global warming. If you have trouble becoming completely or even partially aroused, I'm sure some quack scientist somewhere will show a correlation between melting ice caps and impotence. The thing is, politicians are always looking for a scapegoat. For a while it was 9/11. That shit got people riled. Patriotism had never been higher. Guys would go home on their lunch breaks and masturbate to the concept of liberty, focusing of course on the physical manifestation. But that all started to wear away. The politicians needed something new, something fresh. Enter: Global warming. Here's my thoughts: global warming; schmobile snoring.

4. Text or instant messaging shortcuts including, but certainly not limited to: lol, rotfl, l8r, ur, u r, c u l8r and most importantly, OMG. It is bad when i see these things on a screen, but when I hear people use them in their vocabulary, I become infused with such an insatiable rage I could do something..very, very bad, maybe even to a very, very good person.

The That's-News-to-Me Newspaper

So, in an attempt for my family to become more well-read on the happenings of today and also in an effort to support the local economy, my family subscribes subscribed to the local newspaper. Let me explain.

Just the other morning I woke from a deep sleep fresh as the morning dew. The sun was briliant; the air, cool and crisp. I began as I do most other mornings by starting a pot of coffee and doing some morning stretches and exercises. It felt good to be alive. I went out into the living room to have a cup of coffee while i partook in my morning read of The Mysterious Flame of Queen Loana by Umberto Eco. Some minutes later my sister went outside and brought the newspaper in. I was excited. I felt enthusiastic, accomplished and all-around ready for what the day was to bring to me.

The newspaper sat on the counter until I finished two chapters in my book. I walked into the kitchen for a coffee refill just as my sister was unwrapping the paper. Something fell out. I brushed it off as nothing. Then a piece of paper fell out, and I assumed it to be one of many advertisements. I picked it up and saw there was something written on it. "DON'T FUCK WITH ME AGAIN", this note read. But who? I asked. I thought people liked me. Who had I wronged so badly? Images of me running a yellow light, and not holding the door open for somebody at the grocery store and other instances of little worth boggled my mind. A temporary overload of supposed bad deeds struck me just as I saw it.

Dripping. The newspaper was dripping. But why? It certainly hadn't rained. The sprinklers were not on. Then I realized what it was that had first dropped from the paper; a condom. I don't know what exactly was in it, I hope it was mayonnaise, but something had leaked from the dong-sock and married itself with the paper. My sister realized what was happening at the same exact moment and she threw the paper towards the sink. I couldn't believe it. Who puts a condom (may or may not have been used) into somebody's newspaper with a terrible, mean note? I called the newspaper to request another copy and to complain about what had happened, and the service girl (let's call her Jane) giggled. I wanted so badly to say, "How would you like it if some random person came over to your house and put a used condom on your kitchen sink?" I didn't ask, though. In all honesty, I wouldn't have stopped at a giggle if I was in her position. Even now I am laughing as I write this. I guess in life there are certain things you need to create, and there are certain things you need to take note of.

What's Up With Santa Claus?

Santa Claus. What an icon. A global symbol of jolliness and good deeds. The mere thought of this tradition connotes a cup full of Christmas cheer and acts as an inspiration for children to behave appropriately. Speaking of which, Santa Claus is kind of a doody-head. I mean, the guy already has like 3/1000 of a second to park his sleigh (which has to be going like 5000 miles per hour), hop his lard ass down the chimney (or break into those houses that don't have chimneys through the back door), eat some unneeded cookies, drop some random presents off, hop back on the roof and peace out to the next house. That's cool. I can dig the thought of that.

What really begins to boggle my brain is Santa's overt attempt to exploit perceived bad children. He could very easily ignore those children, and increase the amount of time he could spend at each house; as we all know there are a great number of devilish children running a muck in our society. But no. He doesn't. He deliberately takes the time to stop at those children's homes - the ones he has never met and has no idea if they truly are bad people, or if maybe they just made a bad decision - and deliver COAL in their stockings! That is the most absurd thing I have ever heard. What an a-hole. I bet when Santa was young, his mommy never gave him hugs. Who else has that much pent-up frustration that they make the conscious effort, when their time is already beyond strict, to go out of their way to deliver the most degrading present one could imagine? And what would be the psychological reverberations of such deeds? Let's create an example:

Let's say Jimmy Little was a pretty good child. He listened to his mom most of the time and helped her out around the house. Maybe one day he lied to her about breaking her vase on the front porch. But he feels great regret for his actions and his subsequent lying to his mother. [Enter: Santa's 'Bad List']. Little Jimmy Little is thus placed on the bad list even though he felt sorry and apologized for his wrongdoings. That year he receives coal in his stocking. Do you think that he will ever get better? No. Every year following that, he will see no point in owning up to his mistakes. He will consciously wrong others while eventually convincing himself there will be no benefit in doing the supposed 'right' thing, for he tried that as a child and was spat upon by the glory of Christmas' icon.

What did we grow up believing?

What's the Deal With Birthdays?

So today was my birthday (and yes, I recognize the tense confusion, but at this point in the day the concept of my day of birth is no longer unenthusiastically recognized by any my loved ones). My family continues to ask me what presents I would like. In years past, I would have asked for some cool new shoes or a TV. Now, if there is something I want, I go out and get it myself.

I used to think of people who didn't want their birthday celebrated or acknowledged were subscribers to some form a hidden desire to have grand attention envelope them. I no longer feel that way. I believe I am one such subscriber. I woke up and it literally was just another day. After bouts of phone calls from friends and relatives I got to thinking: why is it that we celebrate one's day of birth? Is it because we celebrate having made it in this world another year? If so, that's kind of depressing. Otherwise, it just seems that we make an unnecessarily large deal about the act of being born. As if to say: "Hey, you were born once. I was too. Let's throw a party, eat cake and buy you stuff because you did what we all have done." Does anybody know the answer to my question?

An Recognizition of Dissatisfaction: Apple Ipod Commercials Blow

I can't freaking take it anymore! That Mary J Blige song is ri-god-dam-diculous. Yeah, Apple, we get it. Your cool commercials with silhouetted people and the visible Ipod are greeeeeeeat. You really need to keep playing commercials. I bet there are innumerable citizens out there who have no idea what an Ipod is. I bet. How come in these ever-present commercials you don't mention your sheer negligence on behalf of your inferior products? How your warranty lasts for 12 months, but when 12.5 months roll around, your only answer is to purchase another $400 one of your pieces of rubbish? Yeah, that's what I thought, Apple. Bitches.

And let's be real. If you are promoting a product AND a new song, why in obscenity's name would you choose one by Mary J. Blige? Yeah, 10 years ago she might have been popular with retarded 12 year-old illegal aliens, but for the love of Pete; we are in 2007, here. Get with the times. "Work What I Got?" Those are the lyrics you are promoting? Such deep, sincere words sculpted from passion and ingenuity, breathed on by the lyrical divinity known as Lyricopoles. Get the hell out. Might as well have the latest rap from Birdman or the next teenybopper single. If your aim is to annoy and utterly dissatisfy anybody with more than two firing neurons, then bravo. You have outdone yourselves. Keep up the good work.

Faux Anonymity: Reverberations of Curb Your Enthusiasm

I have a theory. If the world was divided into two groups, they would be those who do things for the good of doing them, and there would be those who do things for the recognition they would receive. The latter would most certainly have a larger following. I believe that people who make monetary donations and beneficial work with the facade of being anonymous, do it so they can tell people how little they want attention.

As an example, I overheard a gentleman talking today. This was a man I immediately became disinterested in as he was an absurdly loud talker. People that talk loud are insecure. It's science. So this obnoxious man was talking to another man, whom he had just met, and only on the premise that they both enjoyed hiking, and was telling him how he loved to support outdoor groups. For 15 minutes I had to listen to him regurgitate heroic tales of his many, large donations he has made over the years. I only interjected with cynical bursts of "You are truly a saint" and "By George, heaven must be knocking on your door". He seemed increasingly more annoyed with each interjection, but he was an idiot so I don't care.

My point is this. How many other people must he have told? That completely defeats the purpose of anonymity. This brought back memories of a recent episode of Curb Your Enthusiasm when the show's protagonist, Larry David, confronts Ted Danson about the same concept. Larry cited it as being "faux anonymity". Larry David, how wise you are.

Goal:Weight Loss. Mission:Triathlon

Soooo, I have been thinking. I need a goal, otherwise the work I do usually isn't worth more than keeping me from being bored for an extended period of time. Originally, my goal was to lose some belly jelly while honing in on my muscle (you have probably never heard that before, I know). The problem has been, though, that in moving back home, i don't eat when I want and I don't eat what I want. And for about seven (7) months or so, I didn't have any friends in town, and never went out. That said, I am now a whale.

Anyhoo, my goal was to lose this dreaded weight, but not necessarily for any conventionally good reason. I want to be a gladiator next year for Halloween. And I want to be able to take my shirt off and not scare 1/2 to 3/4 of my surrounding population with an over-sized hairy stomach. That said, I was all gravy with this plan until recently, after 5 weeks of gym going and some noticeable physical results, I hadn't lost but a few pounds. I'm not going to stop going or get all depressed or any of that crap, but I think I have found a new motivation.

I think I want to compete in a triathlon. If I do, I have many, many months of available training before it takes place. Plus, when I run I lose weight. Proven track record. I think the swimming will be the hardest part for me (I would imagine it is for most people) so I will work on that the hardest. I'm kind of excited talking about this.

The Onion BJ [CLICK HERE]

This article is pretty freaking funny. It hones in on some past personal experiences. I suggest giving it a read. Let me know what you think.

Sneaking Into Heaven

There have been numerous times in my adult life that I have been kicked out of a bar, or local Wal Mart. Either way, it is because I do something stupid and am asked not to come back. That's fine. The fun part about bars, though, is you can always find a way to get creative. For example, if I haven't shaved in a few days and I get kicked out, I have been known to walk to the nearest drug store, purchase a razor and baseball cap, and reenter the bar with a new guise; clean-shaven and hatted. Even in some other drunken stupors, I have been cognizant enough to realize that the person who usually asks you to leave is not the man checking IDs at the door. So, after having been thrown out for about 15 minutes, I return. Getting in doesn't seem to be the problem. Staying inside is a job all in itself. Instead of being able to enjoy yourself in your company, you are constantly on the watch for the big muscle-laden guy who answers to Bro, or T-Bone or something gay like that.

Anyhow, I was sitting the other day just thinking about some things and the thought occurred to me. I hope it is as easy to sneak into Heaven as it is to sneak into a bar. Knowing my luck, I would be admitted to Heaven by some mistake, and upon recognition of my less-than-holy self, soon be cast into the deep pits of Hell. But maybe, just maybe, I could use all my earthly knowledge to shimmy my way back into those pearly gates. I sure hope so, because I don't like to be hot. And the whole eternal fire thing kinda dissuades me from wanting to go there. Let's devise a plan to sneak into Heaven. Who's with me!?

O, Sweet Rejection

So, as many of you loyal readers know, I recently reacquired my testicles. Not in the physical sense; they have always been hangin out, waiting for something to do. But I called them into action, and they responded. I had been battling my natural instinct to ask this girl out. However, I find myself torn between loyalties. I started going to this coffee shop before she started working there. And I like the place a lot.

Let me preface my situation by letting you know that I am not afraid of rejection. I have been there before, and its cool, because better things always await. So, anyhoo, here we go. The coffee shop girl looked really good today. I complemented her and we chatted our normal chit-chat. As I was sitting down drinking my coffee, and I got the urge. I decided I have very little dignity, but I have enough to spare asking this girl out. So I did. This is a summary of how the conversation went as I was leaving today:

HER: (smiling coyly) Bye. Have a good rest of your day.

ME: So, do you have any plans this weekend?

Um, no. Not really.

Well we should hang out. What do you say?

(smiling coyly, once again) Yeah... maybe.

Maybe? Well, let me get your phone number and--

Um, I need to think about it

Think about it...Like I said before, I have indeed been rejected. But holy moly, never have I before been delivered the line I have to think about it. In all honesty, I didn't know how to take it. I thought at first, well hey, maybe this is a joke. But no. I think she was genuinely dissatisfied with my proposition. It doesn't happen often, but at least this rejection is funny enough to write about.

Do You Spank Your Children?

I think its funny. I find it absolutely hilarious when people go off on tangents in the opinion section of the newspaper, or on blogs, or even spouting it off to your face the topic of spanking children. I know that it is still a widely practiced tool for disciplining one's children. However, talking about it in public places seems to be more of a cultural and societal sin than cheating on your spouse, or marrying for financial security.

The thing that is funny, to me, is that many of those people who so openly refuse the idea of spanking children - and to some extent, condemn those who do practice it - use what they consider to be verbal disciplines. Maybe I am reading too much into this, or maybe I am retarded, but hear me out. Those verbal reprimands are often much more traumatizing than a slap on the butt. For example; I am sitting at a coffee shop as I write this. There is a gorgeous girl that works here and I like their coffee, but I digress. A couple tables away sits two women (roughly 35-45 years old) and two children (one is a freshman in high school - I eavesdropped - and the other is about six years old). The younger of the children has a colored pencil he found on the floor, and is drawing on the back of a flyer. The mother of the two children, who, simply put, looks like an uber bitch, is talking to the other lady, who seems relatively disinterested.

The mother takes a break - long enough for me to take a drink of my coffee - and the little child gently taps her on the shoulder and says in complete innocence, "M-mommy, can I have some water? I'm thirsty." This nappy-haired bitch removed his hand from her shoulder and began flinging her pointer finger in this child's face saying: "You don't need to interrupt me. I am sick and tired of you thinking what you need to say is more important than what I have to say." I would have ended the conversation here, but she didn't. "You are very rude and are being very inconsiderate of me and [insert other lady's name] and I DON'T appreciate it one bit. And look at this! You are wasting paper. If you are going to color, you need to use the entire sheet of paper. Don't waste paper. That kills trees. Do you want to kill trees?"

The child didn't answer, and with good merit. He was about to ball his eyes out. I would have cried if she was my mother. That, to me, is much worse a punishment than taking a swatting on the behind. At least that sting fades after a few minutes. Those harsh words will resurface 15 years from now when he decides to use his bitch-mother's head as a Christmas tree ornament. And I will applaud him.

CBEST, or Should I Say, C-WORST?

I am preparing to take the CBEST test this Saturday. In high school (yes, I am revisiting the glory days) I was a peer tutor for algebra. But since my statistics class during the first semester of junior college in 2001, I have not taken a math class. I never thought I would be classified as legally retarded. Not until I picked up the CBEST book the other day.

There are many things in there I vaguely remember like the Quadratic equation and the Pythagorean Theorem. But let's be real, I have actually had to sit down and reteach myself how these things are applied. I have graduated from a well-recognized 4-year institution, and have never felt so academically inadequate. Up until this time I have imagined myself to be so well-educated that I shan't need study for such a test. After all, I did graduate high school once. But reviewing these things seems to be more like something from an episode of 'Are You Smarter than A 5th Grader?' At this point in my life, it seems as though all the things I learned in high school have flown the proverbial coup. What I needed to remember, I have. All those other seeming useless facts and equations are tucked away deep into the darkest crevices of my memory bank, locked and blanketed by the covetous protection of what need not be recanted.

This has truly, thus far, proven to be a humiliating experience. In all my years of scholastic things and such, my academic virtues have never been rendered so subject to fleeting insecurities as trying to do something I simply don't remember how to do.

Be not afraid, though. I assure you I will come from that test site Saturday as the victor, and the almighty California Basic Education Skills Test; the defeated.

An Open Letter to United Airlines

Dear United,

My faith in your good service has come to an abrupt halt. You perturb me. I have seen TV commercials and heard of supposed "blackout dates" and "hidden fees", but not until two nights ago did I realize they were, in fact, the most unforgiving manifestation of reality in existence. Trailed by the un-saintly (I am here coining a term) overdraft charges by financial institutions and things of the sort, I never expected a free flight to cost me $85.

I realize that though your marketing and sales gurus (self-proclaimed, I'm sure) believe themselves to be some direct offspring of a conceptual genius, I find your indirect and manipulative shenanigans to be indisputably pathetic. And more so, your customer service leaves something to be desired.

The service representatives are friendly, but in spending anywhere from 7 to 13 minutes deciphering what was actually said, I become rather frustrated. Your representatives should represent your company, who's history and success is rooted deep in American soil, not the concept of cheaper labor. They are trained as mindless drones, reading off a sheet of paper, not answering any questions but instead raising some; like, why the hell am I stuck talking to you? Can you not think for yourselves? Do they lock you in a basement and recite by memory all United's many shotgun responses?

I have earned my 25,000 miles in travel on your airline alone. You tell the consumers that after acquiring 25,000 miles, one is entitled to a free trip in the continental US. I have held my end of the bargain, don't you believe you should do the same? I can understand a $10 charge for booking and taxes and whatnot. I cannot and will not justify giving you $85 for you to do nothing more than to respect your word. You disgust me.

WTF?

I'm not completely sure, but I think I had an epiphany today. I felt a whirling of thoughts; all logic and reason was cast aside, and I saw a truth. That truth: I am a pussy.

I never have a hard time approaching and talking to a girl. Normally I initiate conversation, then things follow in natural order. Albeit, at this point in time, I can't progress. In the past few months I have been going to a coffee shop close to my house more and more regularly. It is often hard to find any solitude at my house, so I go there in seek of peace and withdrawing. Instead, my cognitive faculties are normally rendered useless by a rather attractive young dame who just so happens to be a barista (if I'm allowed use of that term). Talking to her isn't the problem. We make small talk, sure. But small plays a crucial role in the transition between when you meet somebody and when you sleep with them. Trying to decide if it is wise to pursue this girl is the problem. I don't know if she has a boyfriend, and that weirds me out. I don't remember ever caring if a girl was involved or not - and yes, there have been times when I knew, but just didn't care. This girl, though, perplexes me. Plus, this is my favorite coffee shop. Would the silent whispers and downcast glances of failed nothings be too much to endure on my afternoon strive for freedom? I think I am thinking too much. But I continue.

My approach to girls in the past has stemmed from the basic thought that I probably won't end up dating this girl regularly because either: a)We hook up and I never talk to her again or, b)I want to see her again, because I truly find her physically attractive and mentally stimulating, but get too excited and freak her out by moving too fast. With her, in all the small-talk (and surprisingly intelligent) conversations we have had, I theoretically feel like I could enjoy spending time with her (though, as we know, theory and practice all-too-often collide).

Anyhow, I can't seem to throw my self-respect right out the window like usual and just make the move. I feel like a 14 year-old virgin, and not in the good way... Is retaining and exercising a system of moral values learned as a child part of maturity? Because, if so, I don't want to grow up / I'm a Toys 'R Us kid / There's a million things at Toys 'R Us that I can play with...

Enthusiasm Drives Me Nuts

Enthusiastic store employees really piss me off. Take today, for example. I was doing my J-Man thing at the neighborhood Costco, bee-lining straight from the entrance to the pharmacy line. Friday evening, apparently, is the secret hang-out for all those hot moms with tight pants and a ponytail we all want to indulge in. Eh-hem. Anyway, there I was; standing in the pharmaceutical line. I watched as an elderly couple walked (well, the woman was in a wheel chair, so they stroll-walked…stralked?) to a stand next to the pharmacy. They were examining a volume-increaser…some As Seen on TV type of thing. There were two different brands and the couple carefully examined each. Just when the woman turned her head to look for a salesman, BAM! Right out of nowhere this squirrelly guy bounced his way behind the stand with a smile like he just fucked a supermodel.

“How ya folks doin? My name’s Brian. So I see you’re looking at the two finest models we have. Let me tell you about the …”

I noticed his voice increased steadily, like because they were old they were probably deaf, or stupid…or maybe both. He kept referring to the “electronic technologies” that were involved in the volume increaser. I don’t actually know if I have ever heard of somebody single-handedly making up so many fictitious terms. It began to hurt my brain, so I lost focus until I heard, “Well, I don’t know first hand how they work, but I tell you true, I have gotten nothing but great feedback from both of those products right there. I may not know which is best, but I know that you will be happy with whatever purchase you make. Happiness is a promise, and you will be happy. That’s my guarantee to you.”

This little pencil-dick with his greasy, curly, slicked-back hair and faux diamond earring stud actually just said “That’s my guarantee to you.” He was definitely the type of guy who took all the Costco training videos, went home, took off his dirty, mangled Docker’s Khakis and jerked off to every one of those videos. Then he probably had a nice glass of wine, combed his hair again, and jerked off to all his customer service awards, in chronological order.

Do you ever feel like that?

Totally Agree with This [C;ICK HERE] Story

Ha ha, freaking hilarious. I completely agree with the article "Renee Zellweger Has Issues" (click on the title of this blog to be directed to the website). I agree with all except where he asks:

Does OJ Simpson still wake up every day and trip out about having gotten away with butchering his ex-wife?

My response: No. He doesn't trip out. He simply channels all his negative anger into the media-pleasing act of armed robbery and kidnapping. That, I think, is a much healthier way to deal with frustration.

Flight of the Conchords

"Don't let anybody tell you you're not humpable / Because you're bumpable / Well I hope this doesn't make you feel uncomfortable"

I am a relatively new fan of the Flight of the Conchords, but I love 'em. Yes, I do.

San Francisco: Conquered

You may be familiar with the song, or social phrase, I Left My Heart in San Francisco. You may be less familiar, however, with a phrase like "I left my wallet/dignity/dinner in San Francisco/on the side of the cab". I saw it all.

My friend, Mark, drank many drinks. Subsequently, he wandered out of the club we were in and disappeared for a number of hours. Despite our many efforts to call him, we were awarded no response. It was decided best to find a taxi to get us back home. My friend, or "source", estimated $35-50 for the ride. We sat in steady rain on a busy street corner for 30 minutes trying to find a cab that would take us back to Belmont for less than $100. Apparently, my "source" is the equivalent of a fucking retard. Anyway, all 15 people were able to...eventually...find 3 taxis to take us back. We finagled our driver to give us the ride for $70. Just as we were getting ready to flag ours down, we saw Mark across the street; confused and worthless. We called him over and asked where he had been. The conversation went something like this:
"Hey (gurgle, gurgle) guys" he said with a surprising smile on his face.
"Mark, where the hell were you?"
"I--I--I fell asleep in a doorway."
"Where? How do you find a doorway and decide its a good idea to fall asleep?"
"I don't know. It was in that alley over there. I woke up and some bum was hangin out. We talked, but I don't even remember what he said."

It was at this point that his twin brother gave him a distinct look of disgust and our cab arrived. We got in and ventured the 25 minute drive. The driver, who was already somewhat displeased that he agreed to drive us that distance, became further displeased 15 minutes down the road. Mark's head was bobbing in the front seat. Bobbing, bobbing bobbing. Then Mark's window rolled down. His head still bobbing. Then on the outside of Kevin's window we saw a stream of bodily fluid quickly dry in the cold night air. Vomit. Mark vomited on the side of the cab. A pungent odor soon manifested itself in the cab and I saw the cab driver tense up. After apologizing and promising him a large tip, he continued to drive us the last 15 miles (we were very gracious). We gave the driver $100 and went inside to take shots of vodka. Mark slept in his car.

Be sure this was only one of many, many episodes we encountered in our 48 hour stint. All in all, we conquered San Francisco.

San Francisco!

I am about to embark on a journey to the diverse lands of San Francisco. I can already smell the stale, salty air and see the bums sleeping on the sidewalks. This is a city pregnant with things that are to many people yet unknown, and to even more people never want to be known. There are two celebrations going on. First is my friend Aaron's birthday. Wooo. Next is my one week countdown until I am able to drive. Another woooo. Anyway, I will be letting you know how this weekend fares, though I know it will fare well. Good day.

Do I Have Ulcers?

Hypochondria: The persistent conviction that one is or is likely to become ill, often involving symptoms when illness is neither present nor likely, and persisting despite reassurance and medical evidence to the contrary. Also called hypochondriasis.

I'm pretty sure I'm a hypochondriac. The other day I was drinking a cup of coffee (I drink many, many cups throughout the day) when I felt a sudden pain in my belly. I passed it off as nothing until when, a few minutes later, I remembered my boss, who also drank a lot of coffee, had just found out he had ulcers. "Oh my God!!!" I thought to myself. I have ulcers.

This painful realization has riddled my sub-conscience and disallowed me any form of sound sleep. Last night, I had a dream that the doctors found one such ulcer, and when they cut me open to explore it, it turned into a black hole and consumed everything in sight! First the doctor, then the nurse, then I, myself, was sucked into that cavity of good-for-nothingness. Yes, my own stomach ate me.

More Cyanide and Happiness

Cyanide & Happiness @ Explosm.net

Good Times

Despite my somber tone in the post just before this, I did have a rather enjoyable weekend. I had a two good friends come into town. One, who is a cop (God help us all), stayed all weekend, which was sweet. We went out to some bars and of course the late-night Denny's trip. My other friend showed up Saturday afternoon and just stayed the night, for she had a long road trip ahead of her. But she came out too and as a result, had an even longer, hungover drive. But anyhoo, great weekend and good times with good people.

Dead End

I hate working dead-end jobs. Granted, I only really do it to have a little extra spending money. But boy howdy, it takes every ounce of energy to not go home in a terrible mood - which is good because the work I do is little more than thoughtless repetition. Dead-end jobs once had a great place in my life. You could just show up stoned, make a little money and go home to party. Now, I don't smoke and rarely party. This shit sucks.

Great Song

This song always gets me.

Johnnys daddy was taking him fishin
When he was eight years old
A little girl came through the front gate holdin a fishing pole
His dad looked down and smiled, said we cant leave her behind
Son I know you dont want her to go but someday youll change your mind
And johnny said take jimmy johnson, take tommy thompson, take my best friend bo
Take anybody that you want as long as she dont go
Take any boy in the world
Daddy please dont take the girl

Same old boy
Same sweet girl
Ten years down the road
He held her tight and kissed her lips
In front of the picture show
Stranger came and pulled a gun
Grabbed her by the arm said if you do what I tell you to, there wont be any harm
And johnny said take my money, take my wallet, take my credit cards
Heres the watch that my grandpa gave me
Heres the key to my car
Mister give it a whirl
But please dont take the girl

Same old boy
Same sweet girl
Five years down the road
Theres going to be a little one and she says its time to go
Doctor says the babys fine but youll have to leave
cause his mommas fading fast and johnny hit his knees and there he prayed
Take the very breath you gave me
Take the heart from my chest
Ill gladly take her place if youll let me
Make this my last request
Take me out of this world
God, please dont take the girl

Johnnys daddy
Was taking him fishin
When he was eight years old

I Hate People

So, I hate people. Why? You ask. Well, there are many, many reasons. However, I am only giving you one of them right now. The term: Just Joshin' ya. I am so completely annoyed when I hear that term that I literally imagine slitting my wrists; not with razors or knives or scissors, or anything cool like that, but instead with paper cuts. I would rather (in a Utopian world, of course) paper-cut slit my wrists than listen to that mumbo-jumbo. The saying just reminds me of some retard who considers himself a young professional (another term that annoys me) with a cheap button-up shirt and coffee-stained Docker's Khakis saying to one of his few cubicle buddies, "Hey, your wife called, and she's real mad...haha! just Joshin' ya! Haha, wasn't that funny?"

Out of all the names in the English language, as well as all other languages, why was Josh chosen? The simple mention of that phrase depicts a lot of responsibility. I, as a following Josh, am expected to constantly uphold the comedic valor of all Josh's previous. Sometimes, I don't want to be funny. Yeah, its hard not to, but I can go a day without making somebody laugh, and guess what. I like it. No. I LOVE it. muuaaaahahaha.

So, I think we should all do our parts as active members of society, and totally change that name from Josh to something a little more gay...maybe Jeff (Just Jeffin' ya) or Keith, because "Just Keithen' ya" could sound a lot like "Just queefin' ya", which would lead to all sorts of jokes in itself.

Cyanide and Happiness

Thought this was kinda funny


Cyanide & Happiness @ Explosm.net

The Kite Runner 2

Ok. So I finished the Kite Runner the other day. At first, I was thrilled with it. I found it to be exhilarating and was, at first, pleased with the outcome. However, after a few days pondering the happenings I have become upset. When Amir and Soraya take Sohrab in to their family, Sohrab acts like a little bitch. Let's be real; yeah, Amir made a promise that he couldn't keep (though it was done with good intention). But he also saved the Sohrab's life twice. Once when he fought Assef (though Sohrab reciprocated the favor, I am well aware) and also when Sohrab slit his wrists.

So, Sohrab, who knows full well that he has no immediate family and that his only true hope for survival rests in his accepting Amir's offer, doesn't have the decency to converse with his aunt and uncle. All because Amir made a promise that he eventually made come true! Ungrateful little bitch.

Sometimes pride really pisses me off. Let me rephrase, pride without understanding pisses me off.

A YEAR! without talking to the only family he has. Asshole.

A Refreshing Idea

SO, I believe I have always had a fairly entrepreneurial mindset. I have held a number of jobs working for small businesses up through the corporate managership. It comes as no surprise that I don't want to work for anybody anymore. Granted, I do realize that in some context we are always working for somebody (if you own your own business then you are always working to serve and make happy your customers), yada, yada, yada.

But let's veer from the business ownership aspect and focus on the entrepreneurial side. There is a sense of innovation in all of us. An idea that nobody has come up with yet that would just make the world of difference to everybody who tried it, or to yourself in the least. My idea, however, would benefit all mankind. From the jungles of Brazil to the great African plains and back and around again, this invention would surely make you...juicy.

Ladies and gentlemen, I introduce to you (drumroll, please) the BANANGO!!!! That's right. I want to successfully crossbreed a banana (my all-time favorite fruit) with a mango (simply delicious). The result, a Banango, or Mangana. Whichever you prefer to call it. Anyway, doesn't this sound divine?

DUIs Suck

So I have two more driving classes left before I can drive freely once again. I wish people would just learn from me. I knew people who got a DUI, I knew people who died from being hit by drunk drivers. It really pisses me off that I didn't listen. I don't know why I didn't, but that's how it happened. I just didn't give a care. Here I am, 11 months and $8200 later waiting for Wednesday to come around so I can drive again. I hope I reach at least one person with this message. If you think I am full of it I will personally show you my bills, not to mention the fact that I broke a rib and have to face the humiliation in my family's eyes day after day. Anyhoo, don't drink and drive! a $30 cab ride is much cheaper than never-ending legal fees. Believe me.

World Series

So, the expected has become a reality. I was neither a Rockies nor Red Sox fan, but I enjoy watching for the sake of the game. So with that, kudos to the Red Sox.

What Do I Want to Be When I Grow Up?

What a stupid question. You know what I want to be? A dinosaur. Not realistic enough? Um, how about I want to own the Boston Celtics. I mean, who really cares what I want to be? We all want things we don't have. But sometimes what you want takes a backseat while you do what you need in order to get by. That's one of the hardest parts of life - going through day after day, doing things you don't want to do with the hope that someday you can do those things you do want to do. Many times complacency gets the best of us and we find a certain comfort zone in a position we find extremely uncomfortable to begin with. Sometimes that seems like the easier path, and sometimes we choose it. And that truly is a shame.

The Kite Runner

OK, so I just finished The Kite Runner...wow. To be honest I hadn't even heard of the book until about a month ago. I don't typically expect much from books, but I was totally engrossed in it until the end. At one point near the middle of the book I found myself integrating myself into the story. It happened so naturally and unexpectedly that I realized how powerful his writing was. I hope one day to have that power.

Relational Conundrums

    We are, by nature, a social people. It is inscribed deep in our genetic code that we must seek acquaintanceship of another, as interpersonal interactions are necessary for our sanity. This is easily verified in those situations when we are given the almighty "silent treatment". When somebody does not respond to a question, statement or otherwise, we feel a sense of inadequacy. We ramble on nonchalantly hoping to be given some form of verbal acknowledgment. But as we wait with bated breath, nothing. We ramble on more, spewing useless information in a pathetic attempt to justify whatever action may have brought about this unforgiving silence. But, nothing. From an argumentative standpoint, this is the simplest and most effective method for resolving, or at least addressing, an issue. In this silence we are forced to question our actions, and more so our reasons for those actions. We are forced to examine ourselves.

    But what about too much interaction? Is there such a thing? Can we possibly be so enamored by somebody that we spend every spare moment thinking of them? If we do, is it absolutely necessary to incessantly make yourself part of their daily routine by text messaging and calling whenever spare time allows? I think not. It is a hard balance to find, though. The harmony that holds our entire universe together is seemingly always out of tune. As we grow tired of continued failures and shortcomings, we seem to focus primarily on that perfect chord that will let our lives continue in theoretical correctness. And it is hard for us to grasp the concept that there will never be a perfect harmony. We are born with flaws into a flawed world. It is even harder for us to understand that the chaos and inconsistencies we despise more with each day we live are really the only truths to our lives. You can always expect something to go wrong, so try to not be so surprised when it does.