New Years Reillusion

So the Christmas diet failed miserably and I took the defeat pretty rough, so I’ve been lounging around in my pajamas everyday feeling sorry for myself. Not unlike every football fan in Detroit. But there is hope, and it comes in the form of resolution. Since the cigarettes are going out the window (again) on the 1st, I figure I’ll really overwhelm myself and make my window of possible success so small that Gary Coleman would have difficulties squeezing through. I am going to double resolve my New Year with, what the experts are calling, a “Life Change”. The first will be my 3 month mark without alcohol; it will now become the day I quit smoking as well as the day I got into shape. I figure these lofty goals and expectations will be to blame when I fail miserably no more than 36 hours after Wednesday at midnight. If I had simply said, “I am going to eat more vegetables” or “I will no longer spend $500 dollars on Amazon.com when my bank account reflects a balance of $250”, then I would have no excuse when I fail because my initial expectation was such a simple goal that even one of Brangelina’s half-breeds could accomplish it. However, if I shoot for the starts and say I am going to change the world in a day, and then only quit smoking, BOOM, everything else is over looked and even though I ONLY quit smoking…I quit smoking.

In closing, I have just given birth to my New Years Resolution for 2010: I will diligently work toward have such high expectations for myself that when I fail so badly that I am worse off than I was in 2004, I will still feel a sense of achievement and accomplishment. Wow. That shit is genius.

Good News and Bad News

Alright. The diet has been compromised once again. Someone thought it would be a good idea to get both advent calendars and almond roca for the house. In a nutshell, this morning I have a stomach ache, a toothache, and the runs...all before coffee.

Bah.

It's 6:55pm and I'm 209

That's right, I'm 2 pounds closer to the 10 pound weight loss goal. Pictures pending.

My 2008 Christmas List

1. Portable Interfacing Unit of Moderate Price and Capacity (Laptop)

2. Unitarily Accepted form of Exchangeable Currency to Amazon.com and/or some/all of it’s Selective Subsidiaries. (Amazon.com Gift Card - Conveniently offered online at www.amazon.com)

3. The hind end remains of a bovine or genetic relative to be tanned and manufactured for the sole and specific purpose of housing minute remnants of a tapest-esque disposition used in transactions requiring the action of exchanging said monetarily orientated tapestries. (A new wallet, preferably a Stafford)

4. A dreamscape bound in wonderment; a true-to-life representation of Joseph’s Technicolor Dream Coat; an 88-key life raft of perseverance and possibility; a rectangular guide dog used by creative minds in an effort to explore their innermost desires and outermost eccentricism. (Some form of piano/keyboard)

5. A multi-cylinder powered motor to be stored and operated inside of a carbon steel chamber which, suspended 20-30 inches above the terrain, would be used primarily, if not solely, adjacent to the rich bounty of the Lord’s terra firma as a means of powering two circular objects which, in the act of making direct and semi-constant contact with the ground, would thrust the carbon steel chamber into the desired geographical direction. (Dirt Bike)

6. A pony.(A pony)

7. The societal element which allows one to become self influentially ostracized due to the taboo reference of such a collection of artifacts at a time when said artifact is criticized for being requested as a complimentary bestowment at a time of Christian reverence and familial celebration. (Money. You had to read that one twice. Go ahead, read it again. You’ll get it.)

8. An athletically derived orb used by sports figures whom have no sense of practical attire, gratitude, or self control; generally orange or of a mahogany derivation, this inflated globe single handedly made it cool to be the only 7’ 2” white guy in Boston.(A Basketball)

9. Extremity-specific heat capacitor used in the collection and preservation of thermal energy generated by the human body during times of extreme cold or vigorous activity. (Gloves)

10. Any celebratory dissemination of tangible goods which exceed the personal, societal, or monetary value of those celebratory items gifted to any other member of our immediate nuclear family whose age is less or equal to my own current annual value at the time of the celebratory gifting. (Anything, as long as it’s cooler than what Kenny gets)

Status Check

So operation "Lose 5 pounds by Christmas" has taken it's first casualty. The I was, minding my own business, when all of a sudden I was ambushed. They came quietly, and with extreme prejudice. The chocolate truffles of the holiday season. Son's of bitches infiltrated my defenses long enough to sneak three covert ops insurgents into my body. The plan now is to slowly defuse this ticking time bomb of chocolate cravings long enough to begin hating my body like I need to for this diet to work. I think it's funny that dietitians refer to a diet as "A lifestyle change". In no way is this going to be a lifestyle change after December 25th. After the 25th, the only change that is going to be made will be me installing elastic bands in my jeans like I'm going to be doing cross dressing stunt work on the set of Juno.

Anyways, I'm off to single handedly demoralize myself in front of the mirror before running too far, eating too little, and whining too much.

It's 5am and I'm 211

I officially started my "Get in shape for Christmas" routine today. Knowing that there are only two weeks left until Christmas, I am hoping to only lose 5 pounds instead of the original 10 el bees. This is how it's going to go down:

5:15am-6am
Work for 45 min and then shave and shower.

Breakfast 6:15-6:30am
3 eggs with wheat toast

Snack 8:30am
Nature Valley Granola bar / Grapefruit

Lunch 12pm
Solid White albacore / apple / V8

Afternoon snack 3pm
Campbells Vegetable Soup

5:30pm
30 minute after work run

Dinner 6:30pm
Protein Shake

Boom. If anyone needs 5lbs, look no further, I'll have it ready for you by Christmas.

STS - Small Town Syndrome

In our hunt for a new roommate we've been cruising through a list of possible candidates that have proven time and time again to be less than optimal. So far the best candidate we've had was a girl who seemed like she had her affairs in order: she had a job, could afford rent and bills, had a sense of humor that was compatible with that of the casa; and she was pretty mellow. There was only one catch...she has a 1 year old daughter. Now, I have nothing against children as I am fairly certain that at one point during my illustrious time on the planet, I was a child myself, but bringing a child in the house may be the least appropriate thing we could do for ourselves...and a child. So Dave blew her off after learning of the offspring and chalked her up to memory. Until tonight. We couldn't decide where to go to dinner so we jumped into the car and drove until something shined. We ended up at a place called Q's Bar-B-Que for some pull pork and chicken wings. No more than 6 minutes after sitting down does this girl walk in with her family and her (adorable I might add) daughter. The goddamn waiter puts them right across from our booth so we HAVE to see each other less we all develop astigmatisms in our necks from facing a wall. We eat our entire meal while choking back laughter and embarrassment while her little girl stares at us and waves while spitting food down her shirt. Now I am charged with the excruciating decision of either contacting this girl and talking the whole situation out, or letting it go and remaining douche bag numero uno for the rest of my life.

And you may be asking yourself how on earth she recognized us right? Let's just say it's me; and I never miss and opportunity to plaster a picture of myself on everything digital and/or adhesive.

So that's how dinner goes for people in a small town.

Steve Jobs is an Asshole

So I woke up this morning thinking I was going to go to the gym and actually do one of the things on my "things to do this morning" list but I think I'll just tell you about the dream I had last night instead.

I usually fall asleep with some type of music on in my room, for ambiance or whatever, but last night I accidentally had Thriving Ivory's 'Angels on the Moon' playing on repeat and didn't realize it until I was almost asleep. The version that was on is like 6 and a half minutes long and I could legitimately fall asleep 3 or 4 times in that given period. So I lay there listening to this song for about seven minutes, just long enough to realize I put it on repeat when all of a sudden there is this massive earthquake and the whole house starts shaking. The pictures hanging on my walls start to drop and shatter on the floor while I lay there in amazement of what is going on. I look to the left and the water from my bathroom is flooding out of the doorway and the mirror has already been spiderweb cracked from the shaking of the house. Just then, the giant oak tree in my back yard comes crashing through my bedroom ceiling and crushes my computer desk, television, end table and random piggy bank which I hadn't seen in roughly 15 years. I scream and just up, trying to get through the hole in the wall that was created by the huge tree. I make it to the backyard and the entire thing is over. Everyone's homes are pristine and conveniently quiet, and my house is completely destroyed from what has apparently just been my own personal disaster course. I fight through the wreckage of the kitchen as I enter the back kitchen door to the house. The living room floor has been removed and replaced with a 30 foot sinkhole that sucked the couches, flat screen, and PS3 to the depths of hell where no one can enjoy their beauty or applicability. I continue towards the back of the house to my bedroom where somehow, through all of this destruction and chaos, Thriving Ivory can still be heard playing while the soft glow matching the beat of the song can be seen projecting on the walls before I even enter the dark room. I pear inside and see that the song that was originally playing on itunes has now been changed to a music video of the group sitting around staring in the monitor that has presumably risen from the dead after being crushed by an oak tree. The band stops playing, looks me in the eyes and says, "Did you pay for this Download?"


I wake up in a panicked sweat to the sound of "Angels on the moon" being played on repeat on my itunes. The water pouring from my bathroom is no longer there. The oak tree has conveniently stood itself back up outside. The pictures are rehung from the nails which they originally sat upon. So, after gathering myself, I clinched my eyes from the blinding light of the white screen, scrolled through the infinite options itunes 8-point-something has to offer, got my credit card out and paid for the stupid song.

I'm back

So as I'm sure you've all noticed, I've been on a bit of an extended retreat from the blog for the last few months; and before that I've become a bit unreliable in my contributions to the literary plethora that is the individually contributed and maintained world of blogging. I met someone; a girl someone; that made me fall in love so quickly that all I wanted to do was be with her. And when I couldn't be with her all I wanted to do was think about being with her. She lives about 2 and a half hours away from me and the distance between us made things hard. I thought, no, I KNEW it would be alright for me, but I wasn't sure about whether or not it would be alright with her. However, as time moved forwards, I began realizing things about myself that I never knew were there. I learned things about myself that will be significant elements in my advancement in life; and, I learned things about the person I want to become in the future. All because of this girl.

It kind of blows my mind that in life people can makes things so clear and profound, things that once seemed so diluted and possibly invisible to ourselves because the only time we are ever forced to look at ourselves is when we need to make sure our shirt looks good with the shoes we have on. I hadn't taken a look at myself in a while and now that I am, I see that there's quite a bit of house cleaning to do. She has allowed me to be brutally honest with myself in that I am flawed, as are all of us, to a great degree in areas we are almost unaware existed. As an example, I've never really needed to take a look back and see how my values or codes of life have projected onto people simply because I've never had any negative feedback in the past based on my behavior. So just because the lighting in Macy's is a little too bright doesn't mean everyone runs to management and makes a comment for the box (if you see the correlation, not that I'm calling myself Macy's, I'm more of a Salvation Army I would have to guess). The point is, unless someone points out a genuine flaw in our behavior or presence, we are simply going to remain unchanged, and content with ourselves as we are. This is cake, fine, and dandy for little things: I am a bargain guy, I became that way from years of frugality from shopping with my mother(and Bill Fleckenstein's MSN Money updates), and I am never going to try and change that part of me. This is just one of the things that (though others may see it as odd to wear clothes that other people have worn, or to shop at dollars stores like they are going out of business) I am going to do for the rest of my life. However, presenting my beliefs and personal requirements to other people in a way which allows no bending or margin for error on their part is one of my serious flaws. This is something I need to work on.

So I'm back, and I'm needing this as an avenue of therapy and I'm thinking about sending a picture of my disgustingly out of shape body to one of those health magazines so they can make me into some super human health machine and do a before and after picture. Maybe I'll do it for you guys and we can do some kind of "Lose 10 lbs. before Christmas" kind of things. I'll check it out.

It's good to be back. D

Help Wanted:

So we are on the hunt for a new roommate come the end of the month and Dave and I have started a competition for the best Craigslist ad for the available rooms. The current wager is a $50 bet that says I can write an ad that will produce our future roommate and he is saying he can write an ad that will catch the eye of the "to-be-roomie". I am willing to win this thing anyway possible so feel free to submit some kind of kick ass idea to help me to win. I'll keep you posted.

No offense...but you're broken.

The other day I was coerced into watching a film called "The Strangers". Granted, the film was a little suspenseful, and the hype for the movie was a bit over-inflated, but overall I was able to watch most of the movie without being too scared. Keep in mind, this is coming from the guy who brings his own pillow to the theater in order to cover his eyes during scary scenes. I am such a pussy when it comes to scary movies that I make up excuses (embarrassing excuses) in order to get out of having to see a scary movie. One time I actually hit myself in the face and gave myself a bloody nose to get out of the movie "Identity"; and, apparently, that movie wasn't even scary.

Anyway, I sat through the whole first 3/4 of The Strangers and actually kind of liked it. It was suspenseful, jumpy, and dark. It worked for me. Until the end. If you haven't seen the movie yet, please discontinue reading as I am going to rip the finale of this film apart and use it to belittle people who intentionally subject themselves to the tasteless, morally vacant, trash, which is produced by those emotionally and psychologically scarred individuals who should be under clinical care as opposed to being free to walk the street. Showing people being violently, and ruthlessly murdered is not acceptable entertainment. There are certain things in this world that both the human mind, and soul, cannot recover from without repercussion; watching the depiction of another human being in the act of getting tortured or violently murdered is one of those things.
The Strangers puts a young man and woman into kitchen chairs, bound by their feet and hands. Three masked figures; a father, a mother, and their daughter stand in front of the two bound individuals. They then proceed to take turns slowly pushing a kitchen knife into the two hostage's stomachs while the two beg for their lives and watch each other die. The director makes sure that, even if you semi-decent onlookers looked away to avoid seeing it, you would accidentally see at least one section of the brutal murder as the camera does not cut away until both individuals have been stabbed multiple times. We are then lucky enough to see a mutilated girl crawl across a dining room floor, only to suffer in a pool of her own blood as some 11 year old Mormon kid finds the brutal scene and for some reason stands above her body as she finally spits blood, screams, and dies.

In my irrelevant opinion, which will have less than little effect on anything, this movie changed my life in a negative way. I have had difficulty sleeping, I've had random flashback type images pop into my head of people being tortured, and I find myself looking over my shoulder when walking out to the street at night from my house. Some people may say, "Wow, that movie was a good one if it left you that scared", and with this statement I do not disagree. The suspenseful elements of the movie did their job and I actually enjoyed that part, but the emotional scar that was imprinted on my subconscious was unnecessary.

In a society that is already deprived of empathy and compassion for those around us, I would think these types of movies would be discouraged by most and considered detrimental not only to an individual's sense of morality but also viewed as irresponsible to our community as a whole. I can see why we have so many heinous crimes all across our country and people don't take a second look when they are blipped across the television at a rate of 10 per minute on the 5 o' clock news. Long story short, if you do not feel at least a bit uncomfortable and even a bit juxtaposed in emotion when seeing something like this then you should consider taking a look at your self as a person.

What in the world...

Every neighborhood has its less-than-desirable household on the street that is able to single-handedly drop property values simply by existing. In some cases this house comes in the form of the only young people living on a street of retirees, while in other cases the house is one that looks as if the residents are using the front lawn as an alternate dinning room. On my street it is the latter. Not only does the white trashiness of this house spill onto the sidewalk and neighboring residences, there is a house of identical trashballdom sitting right next door. Combined, the two homes consist of approximately 2 husbands, 2 wives, 12 children, two sets of aunts and uncles, 8 dogs and cats, and an occasional llama(seriously). In addition, the fence between the two homes has been knocked down in an effort to expand the storage and "Nascar Party" capabilities.
The first house is owned by a man who looks excruciatingly like a red-headed Jeff Foxworthy and house #2 guy looks like the love child of Billy Crystal and Marissa Tomei. Jeff Foxworthy look-a-like owns a towing company in town and conveniently has enough of a broke down car collection that his company is only working 4 days a week in order to allow him more time to move his shit around his yard with the tow truck. Billy Tomei over there does maintenance on school buses for the city and has no apprehensions about parking an entire broke down school bus on the street (towed there by Jeff) while drinking beer, listening to the Oakridge Boys, scratching his balls, and wondering how he can scam the city out of a 30 passenger people mover.
Now that I have painted a fairly decent picture of Kid Rock and the gang I can get to the story. The story that blew my "Believe it or not" Breaker. With all of the shit these people have accrued over this last year, we always drive by their homes to see what kind of new, mutilated vehicle either of them have acquired while we were all at work. Most recently both men decided to buy dune buggies/sand rails and put Indy Car tires on them and race them through the neighborhood, prompting the locals to call the sheriff and put a stop to the 1st annual Lander 500. Before that it was some type of para glider which they attempted to take off using the street as a runway. This venture was cut short when a jeep wrangler took an unfortunate left turn down our street and was halted "with extreme prejudice" by two drunks in a semi-aerial expedition. And though these occurrences may seem too extreme to be true, yesterday the "Kings of The Refused" were able to top even the most extravagant of stories.

David and I had gone to the store yesterday as the light bulb in my bedroom decided to give a brief fireworks display moments before exploding all over my bed spread and it was time to replace it. As we pull into the garage, David walks into the house and I stop, listening to what sounds like a just-about-to-explode vehicle. The sound started from the left side of the house and began growing louder and louder as I stood patiently looking out into the street from the safety of my garage. The swelling tension from the intense sound of the vehicle forced me to walk out toward the driveway in an effort to see what terror was about to reign down on my quiet little street. At that very moment, doing roughly 60 miles an hour, two men (lacking shirts), beers in hand, go flying by on what can only be described as a Military Issued...



...wait for it...



...Hovercraft.



I swear to God if these men could legally blow themselves up with Napalm they would split the cost and sell their bodies to science.


The hovercraft blows by my house as the two men scream wildly and hang on for dear life. Jeff Foxyworthy's long red hair whipped in the wind while the speed forced back his screams of fear and joy while Marissa Crystal's beer was being forced vertically through the top of the can from the sheer force of the wind. 2 wives, 12 children, two sets of aunts and uncles, 8 dogs and cats, and a llama stood on the sidewalk cheering as if Lance Armstrong were racing to dinner at their front yard buffet while I stood motionless in my driveway watching these two grown men break enough laws to make Colin Farrell turn down the role in the feature film. And all of a sudden, after the months of embarrassment and ridicule I had placed on these men, and the countless times I had avoided eye contact while driving down the street in an effort to avoid them ever coming over, I actually felt a new sensation. Envy.

How to make a "Man Date"

My roommate Mike was apparently sharing lunch with Boredom and wrote me this email in an attempt to break the silence he was bathing in. I countered with the email below. Enjoy.


-----Original Message-----
From: Petersen, Michael
Sent: Tuesday, September 30, 2008 3:16 PM
To: sales2@pacific.net
Subject: Golf (UNCLASSIFIED)

Classification: UNCLASSIFIED
Caveats: NONE

Mr. Smith -
Good afternoon. As a non-client and someone who doesn't care about your business, I'd like to cordially invite you to a golf outing tomorrow afternoon, promptly starting a 5:22 PM, PST. It will be held at Eagle Valley East and will involve the following:

1. Some form of golf
2. A cooler
3. Two 6-packs One 12 pack
4. A cigar or two
5. Numerous slapbets
6. An afterparty to be held at Carson Cigar Shop and/or Mo's

If you can attend, please feel free to contact me at any of the numbers below.


Very Respectfully,
Mike Petersen




See below for the response.



From: Sales2 [mailto:Sales2@pacific.net]
Sent: Tuesday, September 30, 2008 3:32 PM
To: 'Petersen, Michael
Subject: RE: Golf (UNCLASSIFIED)

Peterson,
Your sincere and cordially articulated invitation has been received and entered into processing. Based on the current information stored in the "day planner database", I can comfortably say that I will be available at that date and time for the offered extra curricular activity. I am, unfortunately, more broke than a Korean bar maid who was recently ran train upon by the second string defense for the Bavarian Rugby Team. Therefore, I propose a compromise; Thursday, the day following the initial offering, we reschedule this outing with the applicable revisions and stipulations:

1. I get a +12 hole handicap
2. Bets are only permitted in beverage submission format
3. I drive the cart for at least 10 of the 18 holes
4. We are able to dress as incredibly inappropriately as conceivable
5. I can bring a camera

Agree to the terms and you my good sir...are on.

P.S. Please see my initialed acceptance of your terms. I had to make one minor adjustment.


1. Some form of golf DS
2. A cooler DS
3. Two 6-packs One 12 pack DS
4. A cigar or two DS
5. Numerous slapbets DS
6. An afterparty to be held at Carson Cigar Shop and/or Mo's DS


Slightly Respectfully,

Daris Smith
International Industrial Sales
Pacific Coast Flange Inc.

Noteworthy

I haven't done a solid "What in God's name?" news section for a while so I went on the hunt this morning and found some of the most oddly entertaining news article to make you feel better about your seemingly messed up situations. Enjoy.


"Save a tree, lose your home."

"Tired of getting shot down looking for a job? Shoot back." Then have a delicious treat.

This kid is weirder than a box of all pink crayons.

"Note to self: Don't threaten to commit suicide while running naked on a wall in New York City."

"14 year old boy accosts geriatric old man in front of police training facility." Astonishingly, he was caught.

"Bird Flu passes. Enter Horse Flu."

"Crime wins war on crime while criminals enjoy crime fighting failure." I'm so funny.

Good Morning Sunshine

So I woke up this morning just like every other morning. Shower, cup of coffee, 10 minutes of flipping between the weather channel and Bay Area news coverage because our sucks so bad, and then heading out the door to go to work. For the first 3 steps of my morning, nothing seemed out of place...until I got outside. I walk up to my truck and open the door and lying on the front seat is what appears to be a homeless person. Not kidding. Old sweatshirt pulled over his/her/its head, missing one shoe, his/her/its ass is straight hanging out of their pants and making direct ass-to-seat contact with my seat covers, and it smells like a Jack Daniel's distillery in the cab. I stand their for a moment wondering the course of action to take without provoking this possibly crazy transient while slowly getting pissed that someone would have the audacity to climb into my vehicle (which I leave unlocked because it has a device that only allows me to drive it) and use it as a Motel 6.
So I set down my bag and take a boxing stance, making sure to take my glasses off just in case he/she/it comes up swinging, and softly poke the pile of hangover sprawled across the bench seat. The body lays still and I poke again, this time adding a bit more force and the words "Hey, wake up" to the motion. Nothing. This timid advancement continues for roughly 3-4 minutes and nothing is getting accomplished. I begin to get frustrated and am emotionally and physically ready to kick some ass so I whack the blob on the head and yell "Wake the fuck up!". The body shoots to life as legs flail and arms contort after the wickedly hard blow he/she/it just took to the front of the face. Like one of those sitcom characters who can't seem to find a specific opening in a shirt, he/she/it tugs furiously at the sweatshirt which still maintains sweat marks from the night(day) before. As I back up, still in the "Float like a butterfly" stance, the head burst through the top of the sweatshirt and a terrified man scurries to the passenger side of the bench seat screaming "Don't fucking hit me man!!". It's was my boy Greg. Apparently he had gone on a bender and tried to get into my house last night to sleep it off but couldn't because "HomeLander Security"(we live on Lander St.) was in effect.
Being that I was ready to fight a crazy homeless he/she/it this morning at 6am I figure I'll skip the coffee.

Baby's got back (penis)

Check it

The Chicken Festival

I went down to Fair Oaks this weekend to see Kim and some of the family and it turned out to be the 3rd Annual Chicken Festival. As a former resident of Reno and a current resident of the state of Nevada, I am no stranger to odd festival themes but this one was absolutely unique. Apparently the city releases dozens of live roosters in the village park and people have a celebration while wild game run the streets. It's a crime to strike the chickens with anything (bottle caps, food, your hand, vehicles, etc.) and the chickens just kind of wander the streets in an effort to stay alive while people get intoxicated and try not to trip over them. As this weekend will be the basis for my Fringe article in December, I can't really tell you all of the deliciously hysterical details and the absolutely outlandish plot points. All I can say is Fair Oaks is one heck of a place.

Never Forget

The political candidates are taking a break from verbally obliterating each other via campaign ads today in remembrance of the Sept. 11th attacks. The media oriented ceasefire is one of the many tactics being used to make Americans believe our potential supreme government officials are benevolent in their quest for world domination. In my opinion, the use of this date as an opportunity to sway voters vis a vi some type of community togetherness and/or camaraderie is a slap in the face of those who died in the attacks. As little as I care about political triathlons and the race to gain the blessings of the masses through elections and campaigning, I still think it's a travesty to see the loss of life as a tool to manipulate society. But I guess everyone is entitled to their opinion and mine just happens to be an opinion that poises all politicians to be conniving pieces of shit with hidden agendas and the ability to instill false hope. When Republicans and Democrats who both present media ads belittling and condemning one another during a campaign are seen holding hands and smiling for the cameras on a day when the United States took it's most devastating loss of all time, the only thing I see is true politics. And that's not what this day is about.

God bless those who perished in the attacks of Sept. 11th, as well as their families, and may they only be remembered in a way that is deserving to people who have shaped the morale of this nation in the most significant way imaginable.

Where'd you go

Where'd you go?
I miss you so,
Seems like it's been forever,
That you've been gone.

She said "Some days I feel like shit,
Some days I wanna quit, and just be normal for a bit,"
I don't understand why you have to always be gone,
I get along but the trips always feel so long,
And, I find myself tryna stay by the phone,
'Cause your voice always helps me when I feel so alone,
But I feel like an idiot, workin' my day around the call,
But when I pick up I don't have much to say,
So, I want you to know it's a little fucked up,
That I'm stuck here waitin', at times debatin',
Tellin' you that I've had it with you and your career,
Me and the rest of the family here singing "Where'd you go?"

I miss you so,
Seems like it's been forever,
That you've been gone.
Where'd you go?
I miss you so,
Seems like it's been forever,
That you've been gone,
Please come back home...

You know the place where you used to live,
Used to barbeque up burgers and ribs,
Used to have a little party every Hallowe'en with candy by the pile,
But now, you only stop by every once in a while,
Shit, I find myself just fillin' my time,
Anything to keep the thought of you from my mind,
I'm doin' fine, I plan to keep it that way,
You can call me if you find you have somethin' to say,
And I'll tell you, I want you to know it's a little fucked up,
That I'm stuck here waitin', at times debatin',
Tellin' you that I've had it with you and your career,
Me and the rest of the family here singing "Where'd you go?"

I miss you so,
Seems like it's been forever,
That you've been gone.
Where'd you go?
I miss you so,
Seems like it's been forever,
That you've been gone,
Please come back home...

I want you to know it's a little fucked up,
That I'm stuck here waitin', no longer debatin',
Tired of sittin' and hatin' and makin' these excuses,
For while you're not around, and feeling so useless,
It seems one thing has been true all along,
You don't really know what you got 'til it's gone,
I guess I've had it with you and your career,
When you come back I won't be here and you'll can sing it...

Where'd you go?
I miss you so,
Seems like it's been forever,
That you've been gone.
Where'd you go?
I miss you so,
Seems like it's been forever,
That you've been gone,
Please come back home...

The Scribble List

This morning, while I was getting dressed, something addressed itself briefly and it was able to put a smile on my face. I thought I would share.

In a world where it's difficult to see the light at the end of the tunnel in many situations, we have to embrace all of the simple pleasures that make the day count. I guess I should say "I" need to do this more frequently as opposed to "we" being that I know a lot of people who make me sick with positivity and over-optimism. This morning, at 4:30am I turned my stereo on, fought through my sleepy eyes and made a list of things of fun things I am going to do this weekend. As stupid as it may sound, this actually made me much more optimistic about the day ahead of me; and being that I'm not a "list guy", it was much more difficult than I thought it would be. Instead of dreading the drive to work (which is a repetitious trend for my mornings), I thought about getting through today in order to do all the fun things on my scribbled list. I'm now at work (wasting time) and instead of hating life and contemplating injecting bathroom cleaner into my veins, I close my eyes and see the lake, and my family, and a bar-b-que. I guess it helps that it's Friday.

My Niece!!

Italy

So Dave, my brother, and I have landed on Italy as our future country of residence. There are, however, a few significant problems we are currently encountering. First off, there is enough government issued red tape involved to sponsor every ship launching, Barnes and Noble grand opening, and Special Olympic finish line for the next 400 years. We can handle the bureaucratic infringement without discomfort but we haven't gotten to issue number 2...being: we need money. Money makes most things easier in every known country on the planet, and to be honest I just don't have it in me to discover a country that has no bearing on monetary establishment, let alone have the desire to live in said country. I am currently open to any ideas for revenue enhancement as of this moment. I am a fairly competent writer for hire. In addition, I am willing to manually slave for anyone willing to supply the required funds to get me to Italy.


Let me know. : )

A new plan.

So Dave and I have decided to move to a different country. The United States is getting to be too much of a pain in the ass with all the Bureaucratic bullshit and nonsense that comes with living in this country:

I don't want to pay $11 a gallon.

I don't want to go to war for some stupid asshole who knows what's best for me.

I don't want to stand in line at Wal-Mart with the lingering smell of Aqua Velva and disappointment flowing through my nostrils while waiting to be mugged in the parking lot.

I don't want to be subjected to the exhaust from a 1983 Chevy 1-ton next to me at the stop light with a 1981 over-the-cab camper filled with illegitimate children and empty whiskey bottles.

I don't want to go to the movies and see the same laughless, stupid shit over and over again while resenting every bite of my 14 dollar bag of popcorn.

I don't want to listen to stupid ringtones that reflect what kind of person someone is based on their societal views and their rebellious nature.

I don't want to be laughed at by Canada for being identified as the country with fat, out of shape, pieces of shit as occupants; Canadians are French.

I don't want to know what a corn dog is.

I don't ever want to see Oprah again.

I want to drink water that doesn't have to be treated with two dozen chemicals in order to be considered "clean".

I want to see a tree that was grown from a seed that fell from another tree; as opposed to being planted by some hippie organization that defends the rights of organic vegetable farmers and alternative fuel powered vehicle producers.

I don't want to be owned by technology.

I want my neighbor to own a record player so I can borrow records.

I want to ride a bicycle without the fear of being hit by a car full of 17 year old high school drop-outs on the way to mug someone in the Wal-Mart parking lot.

I want to water my lawn on odd and even days.

I want to use rabbit ears on my television without being threatened by a cable company.

I want to take the train without having to ride next to imported goods or milled timber.

I don't want to be criticized for not voting.

I want my currency to be worth more than the ink used to produce it.

I want to live by a beach that isn't populated by actors/waiters/waitresses.

I want to live in a country where the GDP isn't overshadowed by the profits of a Toby McGuire movie.

I don't want to be so hated that I have to worry about "Homeland Security".

I don't want to think that "Two Buck Chuck" is good wine.

I want to go see a play without being made fun of for going and seeing a play.

I want to work 30 hours a week and still be able to pay my bills.

I want to be able to hit on a girl while wearing either a scarf, a sweater vest, or suspenders.

I want to tell a topically relevant anecdote and not be ostracized for being pretentious.

I want to sleep for an entire Wednesday.

I want to live in a country that's had a war on it's own soil.

I don't want to get a ticket for smoking (yeah you Belmont).

So that's what's up with me today.

Ex-sept-tional

As the boys and I are pretty inundated with HBO as a whole, and we go all "school girl" over Entourage, we were stoked to hear the new season starts on Sept. 7th, oddly the same day as the opening "hall of fame" NFL game with the Giants and Redskins. I am not really sure what is going on in the world, but I must have done something right to deserve a football game as a main course, followed by the overindulgence of the season opening of Entourage right after that. If anyone needs me that day, I'll be home, remote in hand, balls deep in joy. It's going to be a good September.

Wii are the Champions

I've taken a bit of a break from the unencumbered blogness of my daily routine for about 2 weeks and I am happy to say I am back from my nap. I was watching a guy play Nintendo Wii the other day at a proficiency level that was comparable to watching Tom Brady throw a touchdown pass. No one should be as good at video games as this guy was. I instantly began thinking about what someone with this much free time's life must have been like. This is his story.

"I've always enjoyed video games. I had an original Nintendo when I was a kid and ended up doing pretty good at Duck Hunt and Mario Bros. so when the original N64 came out I asked Santa to pick one up for me. After I dominated my 8 year old brother at 1080 Snowboarding I realized that I may have what it takes to play professionally. I trained everyday, sacrificed aspects of a "normal" social life, traded bulky home-made meals for prepackaged microwavable meals based on my ability to ingest them at a higher rate of speed, and had to say goodbye to some friends that apparently "didn't understand" my gift. 2001 gave way to the Xbox which took gaming to a whole new level; which meant I had to effectively change my training regiment drastically to adjust to this new competitive level of play. Microwavable meals were tossed aside and fast food was introduced into the daily work out. Taco Bell, or "Tango Bravo" as we in the profession like to call it, really catered to the industry with their individually packaged soft tacos. The wrapper could be used as a projectile weapon against an opponent or simply as decoration for one's domicile. After playing Halo on Xbox for 4 years I thought I had done all that could be accomplished in the world of professional gaming. Though I hadn't been paid for playing and my record showed significantly more losses than wins, I still felt confident that my genius would blossom when the time was right. 2005 gave us Xbox360...and a hard on. Tango Bravo couldn't match the supply to our demand and we were forced to purchase 10,000 shares of Arby's stock and proceed to live off Roast Beef for the next 6 months. The gaming was intense and I made my first significant money that year. Rodney's little brother Randall bet me that I couldn't throw an Arby's wrapper across the room into a golf shoe while playing Madden; 5 bucks. As I was in the process of using a gaming console at the time of the payment, I figure that is as close as I was going to get in regards to making money while playing. And, after the 55k dollars we spent on Arby's stock, my total income was a bit below what I had initially projected.

The glory had faded, my waist band was jaded, and I didn't see the future of professional gaming as a way to meet Mrs. Right. I gave it up.

Until the other day.

Nintendo Wii might just be the goofiest, funniest looking, least macho thing I've ever done. Standing in my roommates bedroom, throwing a digital bowling ball at a television while embracing the intensity and suspense of the game brought it all back to me. It felt as if I had never left. My arm moved fluidly through the air and the soft release of the ball left me gasping for breath until the 10th pin fell and that glorious picture of a turkey ran across the screen for some odd reason. I knew I was home. I never have to leave my house again."

I'm pretty sure that was his biography.

My day is chicken soup on a paper plate: Good and Bad

I'm having a great day. Seriously. I don't think my day could go any better. As a metaphorical analysis of how exceptional of a day I am having, I will proceed to compare my stupendous day to other screamingly hysterical scenarios in life:

My day is an elephant with two trunks: Productive
My day is a Chinese woman with a perfect driving record: Questionable
My day is a pedophile babysitter for Miley Cyrus: Overpaid
My day is an ant eater in Rodney Dangerfield's kitchen: Full
My day is PeeWee Herman in a mall during a Jonas Brothers concert: Inappropriate
My day is a puppy in a butt sniffing contest: Frantic
My day is a Sharpie pen with a non-dull tip: Original
My day is a brand new port-o-potty filled with super models covered in mayonnaise: Oddly Entertaining
My day is a pair of Birkenstock's purchased from a store in Humboldt County: Authentic
My day is a condom hanging from a pot rack: Notable
My day is a television with tinfoil bunny ears and no remote: Annoying
My day is Joan Rivers' career: Winding down
My day is me catching a friend masturbating to a JC Penny's catalog in a closet full of camping equipment and VHS Disney films: Hysterical
My day is a roller coaster full of lepers: Unorganized
My day is Boy George's anus: Busy
My day is Michael Jackson at an all-boys bible camp: Overwhelmed
My day is a dyslexic, alcoholic toll booth attendant: Sufficient
My day is Jamie Lee Curtis' penis: Functional
My day is the fact that I watch the movie Troy and work out at the same time: Disturbing
My day is Danny Devito's...anything: Short
My day is Amy Winehouse: Over soon (oh! burn!)


You get the idea.

The Declaration of Indiscretion

It’s always nice to have a friend who knows everything about you. There are no secrets, no judgments (well, a few judgments), tastes are mutually shared without conversation, and there is little or no worry of making an offensive faux paux in there company. All in all it is a great feeling to be that close to someone…until the faux paux which previously rendered itself not existent, becomes reality.
My friend is roughly 5’ 9”, blonde hair, blue eyes, legs for hours, and is obviously female. We had our initial run at intimacy only to later find out that we absolutely despised one another for the simple fact that we were far too similar. Her favorite song became my favorite song and two people singing as loud as they can to the radio is absolutely one aspiring vocalist too many. Her favorite food was my favorite food and we both fought to the death over the last surviving egg roll. Her favorite television show turned out to be my favorite television show, and as she had adopted it a year before I had, she made it a point to systematically destroy every episode with mirrored rhetoric of all scripted dialogue (not to say I wouldn’t have done the same thing had I been fortunate enough to see the pilot). Conclusively, the only thing we willingly shared was our dislike of Jimmy Hendrix, Brussels sprouts, and Kirsten Dunst, non of which one can establish a relationship on.
We are at dinner one night, which was not uncommon at the time, when I see a girl for whom I held sincere admiration for, and found very attractive, walk through the door of the restaurant. Me being me, I wave her and her man-friend over to sit with us. Pleasantries ensue, and the conversation leads to the discovery that none of the people at the table are in a relationship. My friend, surprisingly found “Man friend” to be attractive (I say “Surprisingly” because in my opinion I was far better looking), and obviously I was engrossed with the girl sitting across from me. The conversations become sighted with Hot Pants and I holding our conversation, and my friend and Mr. “I Brush My Teeth Too Much” apparently hitting it off superbly. For some reason I find it interesting that even though two people who have known each other for a long time, and gone through the incessant rigmarole of trying to date and failing like clock work, can some how still find the strength and drive to be jealous at the most inconvenient times. Unintentionally, my friend and I begin taking tiny jabs that start with harmless banter and move to malicious attacks using verbal artillery.

Daris- “Why did you order salad? You hate salad. I think the last time you ate anything green I had your face in the bushes at Brian’s parent’s cabin.”

Friend- “Oddly, I noticed you ordered steak; is that so you can get a feel for what it’s like having a piece of meat in front of you that you can actually see without lifting your gut and standing in front of my parent’s closet mirror?”

Daris- “Eat up; the restaurant bar closes in an hour. You only have so much time to get drunk and make a scene.”

Friend- “So, Justin (Mr. Clean) you said you were visiting from out of town? Where are you from?
Justin- “I’m actually from Georgia. I’m up here visiting Mary (Hot Pants) for the weekend and we thought we would come here.”

Mary (Hot Pants)- “I am finishing my last year at school here and I told him that he had to come up and visit me once before I graduated.”

Daris to Friend- “Honey, it looks like the bathroom might be out of order, you may have to be bulimic at Starbucks”.

Friend- “Don’t worry; I can always use your empty wallet as a barf bag cheapskate.”

Mary- “You guys seem to get along…not so well. Are you alright?”

Justin- “Yeah, we can take off if there’s something wrong.”

Friend- “No, this is just our humor, kind of off the wall. Sorry, Daris gets a little testy if he doesn’t get a little ‘testy’ before bed time.”

Daris- “She’s a raging drug abuser. Seriously, hide your valuables.”

Justin- “I think we’re going to go. Waiter! Check please.”

Mary stands up and puts her cloth napkin onto her plate, “Yeah, I hope everything works out alright. We actually have to get going. It was really nice seeing you Daris.”

Daris- “Yeah, we’ll have to do this again sometime when her Chlamydia isn’t flaring up.”

Friend- “I’ll will kill you bitch. Seriously, that was like 3 years ago.”

As Mary and Justin leave the restaurant in a state of obvious awe and panic, I could only thank the omnipotent Lord there was someone like my friend to share evenings like this with. I don’t know what I would do without a friend that truly cared.

Daris- “Love you.”

She was already half way through Justin’s mashed potatoes.

You can't win 'em all

The night started pretty early on Saturday. Around noon to be exact. The boys and I went up to Tahoe to enjoy the lack of o-zone and overabundant supply of uninhibited women. As usual, a couple of mistakes were made on both my part and the part of the crew that day. For starters, I was lucky enough to be standing on one of the most beautiful beaches in Tahoe surrounded by hundreds of gorgeous women in bikinis, yet was somehow forgetful enough to leave my prescription glasses and/or contacts at the house. This little issue effectively turned a beach full of half naked models into fuzzy blobs of hair and curvy tropical colors. Our method for finding the perfect temporary beach site is made up of a three part selection process: 1. Listen for music, 2. Look for zee boobies, 3. If there are children within 30 feet, keep moving. After finding a spot that had a guy listening to Bob Marley on his stereo, a group of roughly 4 or 5 good looking girls directly in front of us, and no children, we set up shop. As I have come to learn with beach party scenarios, there is a good chance that your enjoyable time at the beach can morph into an insane explosion of college debauchery based completely on the location you choose when first arriving. Within 3 hours of our arrival, roughly 300 people had made our spot on the beach, the most insanely happening location on the lake. Girls are running around topless, beach volleyball is being played at Olympic proficiency levels, jet skis and wave runners are hitting the sandy beaches at 20 mph sending drunks flying through the air in hopes of getting attention through inevitable personal bodily harm. We had all the makings of a really great time.
As the sober driver, a lot of the time you resent those around you; at least I do; especially when you're the sober driver at an epic beach bash that rivals even the greatest B-Rated teen movie scenes. There I am, unable to embark on this journey of irresponsibility, squinting like a Korean Glaucoma patient trying to pass a driver's test, sober and getting sunburned. I pack my stuff up and tell the guys that I'm heading home. The rest of the evening consisted of my unwavering ability to be a poor-sport blended with a hint of my defeatist attitude that allowed me wallow in the disappointment of missing out on a great time. I know you may be thinking, “How can this be a good story? Is that it?” Yes my friend; that is it. Sometimes you have to take the good times with the bad, suck it up, and charge $44.99 to your roommate’s cable account on a UFC fight, eat everything in the house, and leave a giant mess in the living room for them to clean up while hung over. Thus is the life of the Designated Driver.

On the verge. In the Fringe.

Check out The Fringe Magazine as it is one of the dopest publications around. Truth.

Dicture Messaging

Homie Dallas had this to say regarding boys taking pictures of their tools and bestowing them upon the public at large. I can barely drive and sing along with the radio without hitting something; I think she may have successfully completed the DMV test course while making this. Kudos yo.

Rat Bastards

Let me paint a picture for you.

A man waits in the passenger seat of a silver Jimmy in front of Walgreens, his cigarette aching to be extinguished. His unkempt brown hair and oversize sunglasses issues a metro sexual tag that is reminiscent of any cast member of "The Hills" or maybe an Olsen twin as a man. Another gentleman exits the store and moves quickly across the parking lot with a single plastic bag filled with red and beige squares. The second man looks surprisingly similar to the smoking fem in the Jimmy; his hair a mess and glasses large enough to act as a windshield for those walking to his immediate left or right. Jumping into the vehicle and speeding away, the flip flop wearing, hackie sack playing, Abercrombie and Finch buying preppies sit in silence with shit eating grins plastered across their faces listening to Offspring as loud as the remaining, unblown speaker would go.

As they approach the house their hearts begin to beat faster; their hands begin to sweat; glances are exchanged that share the giddiness and pure joy that is going to be the future 15 minutes. The Jimmy comes to a halt three houses down from the target. A final deep inhale with an equally dramatic exhale shared by the two men confirms that it is time to put hours of planning into effect. They exit the vehicle leaving the doors ajar in order to minimize the production of unnecessary sound which may give away their arrival. Leaving the doors slightly open would also create a more complication-free escape. The sound of the plastic bag rustling in his hand, the second man suppresses the sound by stuffing it under his home made Atmosphere tee while rushing to the side entrance of the garage of a blue and white house. Both men duck while running, looking from side to side for any enemy that may hinder their advancement. The door is unlocked, jackpot. They slip inside and though it is barely 9am, the light from outside has overexposed their pupils and upon entering the dark garage both men stop and stand motionless, allowing their eyes to adjust to the darkness of the pitch black room. Like re-finding your seat in a movie theater after reluctantly leaving to take a piss, the two walk with their hands in front of them through the darkness while tripping over boxes, bicycles, and city supplied recycling containers. After taking an abnormally long time to get from the exterior door to the interior entrance, which totaled an astonishing 17 feet, the men quietly open the door to what turned out to be a laundry room filled with cats and slip inside. Though it may sound strange, I would prefer a room filled with dogs than a room filled with cats; dogs are pack oriented and learn from one another whereas cats are independently incompetent and will continue to meow and rub on you whether you smell like cat nip or month old sour milk.

The two men move slowly and quietly from the laundry room to the living room where a sleeping body keeps a sofa from escaping. The television blasts infomercials on a channel which, as of 11pm last night, was more than likely an adult oriented animated cartoon involving either a talking dog, a talking fish, or a talking robot. The men move to the front of the sofa and unflinchingly reach into the Walgreen’s bag for their version of a WMD. The men take a moment to re-learn the art of setting a mouse trap, because let’s face it, unless you work in an office building and the janitor is on strike, or you live in a house that needs a thorough cleaning, not many people use mouse traps on a daily basis. After solving the riddle of setting the hinge, two traps are slipped inside the shoes resting next to the sofa and four more are placed gently on the soft cushions around the body. The men move quickly from the living room to the kitchen where 15 more traps are set unobtrusively in locations most likely to be used over the next month or so. By the looks of it, the dish rack to the right of the basin would have been the most logical place to set a trap as it seemed like the last time dishes were washed in the home was the morning after the Last Supper. With the kitchen laced, the remaining 45 traps were set throughout the house: the tub inside the shower curtain, inside shoes, behind alarm clocks, in bathroom drawers next to the tooth paste, inside personal mini fridges; no place was off limits. The two men slipped out of the house and back to the Jimmy just as quickly and quietly as they had arrived. The job was done. Offspring returned to intensify the joy of the mission’s success.

THE NEXT DAY
If you have never been to someone’s house, it can be a daunting task trying to get the address right. In the heat of mischievous division one can overlook certain elements of a plan that generally deem themselves “unoverlookable”. Getting an address right is definitely one of those things that seems so incredibly basic that there is no way one can screw it up; unless that person is in the middle of an Offspring and excitement induced blackout on the way to set mouse traps all over his buddy’s new house. Excitement could not be contained as the two men approached their friend the day after the attack. Hoping he would be completely destroyed by the plethora of mouse traps strewn about the house, the two men could barely hold back fits of intense hysteria while confessing to the masterful plan. When the victim was sincere in explaining that his house had no such aftermath and that he had conveniently woken up that morning and taken a “mouse trap free” shower and shave, the two assailants couldn’t believe what they were hearing. There was absolutely no way their target could bluff this well and there wasn’t a scratch on him. There was, however 4 police cars and an ambulance that showed up at 412 Ridge Drive that morning, and being that “lucky non-victim” Ricky Masty lived at 414 Ridge Drive, he was able to give a detailed account of a man covered in red marks and bandaged hands telling the police that he “had no idea what kind of maniac would do such a thing”. Woops.

I'm gonna make it so dry for you. Like a desert. Rawr.

J.A.M.

My friend Jen is an amazing artist. She has recently asked that I show some of her stuff on here in hopes that you too would like to immortalize your four legged family member (and no, I don't mean drunk uncle Ralph at Thanksgiving). Check out her website with all of her art and know that if you see something you like, she is for hire!!

Jen McCutcheon Art
Contact Jen on her Myspace!

Macaroni and Me

I was sitting in my kitchen, cooking up some mac and cheese and thought that it would be fun to take apart the pepper mill and see how it worked while my water was boiling. Little did I know that a time bomb of black death was sitting quietly in my hungry hands. I continued stirring the noodles and water while unscrewing the lid.

Let me set the scene a bit for a better visual: My kitchen is a fuckin' mess. There are plates, cups, fruit bowls...everything I own is on the counter of my kitchen.

I finally get the pepper mill open and look inside, of course there isn't the regular ground pepper one would expect, just the little pellet, rabbit shit looking pieces of pepper. Now, based on the name of this quote, you thought you saw how this story was going to end: pepper in the nose, Daris sneezes, drops the mac and cheese, the end...oh no. The water finishes boiling, I get out the milk, butter, and disgusting, yet delicious, artificial powder that is to be added to make the contents of the blue and yellow box come to life. As I tear open the powder bag the pepper grinder mysteriously falls off the bar into the pot of water, I get scared, rip the bag open, yellow shit goes everywhere, I knock the milk onto the floor trying to save what I could of the yellow crack being powder bombed in the room, and drop the whole paper package into the bowl of noodles. Now I am standing there, milk draining onto the floor, cheese shit everywhere, the paper package for the cheese shit is sitting the pot of boiled water, and the only thing I can think of is how i am going to be able to capture the aforementioned events in a blog. So I start cleaning up the yellow asbestos on the linoleum, and pretty soon I get a nice little cloud of the poweder going and sneeze for like ten minutes. Long story short, by the time I was done trying to make mac and cheese I was sitting in a cloud of mustard gas so frustrated and pissed off at Kraft, I had to take a nap. Now I am really hungry and all I have is another box of mac and cheese. WTF.

Jessica Alba and her husband Cash Warren have welcomed a baby girl, her rep confirms to Usmagazine.com.

Honor Marie Warren was born Saturday at Cedars-Sinai Medical Center in Los Angeles.

Alba's father was overheard saying "she's beautiful." Warren — in a T-shirt, jeans and baseball cap — was spotted carrying food into the maternity ward Sunday.

Alba, 26, and Warren, 28, announced they were expecting last December. (See more surprise pregnancies here.)

During her pregnancy, Alba admitted, "anything could make me incredibly angry or break down crying. That’s not something I’m used to.”

Her one fear about mommyhood: Breastfeeding.

She told Extra she had a dream, and "it had to do with breastfeeding, which is the only thing I’m paranoid about. More than giving birth.”

She and Warren got engaged after announcing their baby news.

They quietly wed in the Beverly Hills courthouse's ceremony room on May 19.

They just moved into a $4 million Beverly Hills home with their three dogs.

"It's a lot of stress to buy a house, have a baby and get married in six months," she recently told USA Weekend. "It's a lot of life-changing decisions. I'm really, really secure and happy in my relationship."

-Us Weekly Magazine Article

M.I.A.

Hung out with mom and pops this weekend. My brother came and stayed in C-Town with the boys. We rocked Tahoe's socks off. I'm sunburned again.


Hence the absenteeism.

Drotes

A collection of actual drunk quotes(Drotes) issued by Daris, or by any number of his Associates.

“I don’t care what you say. I’m eating that bagel.”

Moments before a wreck at 4am in Sacramento- “Yellow isn’t even a color. Only Green and Red matter.”

“There’s a fish in my beer…and a little castle…what the fuck…”

Moments before getting hit with mace- “Listen. Listen. I know a guy who works here. We’ll be cool.”

“I do have a condom on.”

Moments before never being seen or heard from again- “Fuck you guys. I’m going home.”

Moments before getting fired- “Bosh…It’s Dars…I don’t flee good. I can’t be in tday.”

Moments before getting a DUI- “I’m cool guys. Look at me. I’m seriously. Look at me. I love you man.”

Moments before getting another DUI- “I’m cool guys. Look at me. I’m seriously. Look at me. I love you man.”

“It’s impossible to get arrested at a carnival.”

“Oh my god, you have Taquitos. We gotta make these.”

“Guys, come here! The Girls Gone Wild commercial is on! Aaawww yeeeaah.”

“What do you mean this isn’t my kitchen?”

“4s are for whores!”

“Coop is a cool guy, but I don’t think he treats you right. Come to my room, I want to show you something.”

“It’s not a twist-off stupid. Use a lighter.”

“I’m sleeping on your trampoline dude, turn the sprinklers off.”

CED. It's real. It's here.

The Stories of the Day/Week/Whenever they came out

Another dose of funny news.

The New Time Wasters

Hookers and liquor stores brace for an increase in business. It's Christian World Youth Day!!!

Elvis is not alright for a girls name. Metallic: Still Acceptable.

British family reunions turn into speed dating services with new study.

Graffiti may make you look really, really gay.

Once you pop...you want to be entombed like a delicious snack which is provided in a silo-like cylinder. mmmmm.

The insanely boring and mundane body of what this woman is talking about is only trumped by the drab, tweed suit wearing, suburbia dwelling, losers leaving comments about the post. My God, I made it through the first 4 or 5 sentences and woke up 45 minutes later only to find out the fire alarm in my building had been going off for 44 minutes. Screw Ambien, I'm printing this article.

My Flawed Friend

When trouble finds the one it’s looking for,

When despair is something that must be suppressed;

When you swallow the key to your own front door,

When your family show turns burlesque.

When a pain in your ass moves to your head,

And a decision made leaves you looking back;

When that sinking feeling moves to the surface,

Exposing the strength and the drive you lack.

The time has come for a serious change,

A serious move from the rocks to a plain.

The time has come for a simple plan,

The hardest fact to face is the one at hand.

So ante up because the cards are down,

And use the hurt to defeat the frown,

And the sinking may surface but I won't let you drown,

Your success is hidden beneath your flaws renown.

- Words for a misguided friend. By Daris Smith.

Brangelina's Maternal Millions

I thought it was pretty interesting to learn that OK! and People magazines are in a bidding war for the first pictures of Brad and Angelina's twins. The fact that they are in a bidding war isn't news, but the price at which the war is currently waging is news. 15 MILLION DOLLARS. I think this is the beginning of the end for civilization. When two people can bone in a gazebo over a vacation in Vancouver without wearing a rubber and make 14,550,000 dollars more than I will in my lifetime...something is terribly, terribly wrong.

The Things I Hate

I hate when you make Jello Gigglers and then they fall apart when you are trying to cut them into heart and star shapes. I would have just made "Jello" if I knew it was going to be such a pain in the ass.

I hate forgetting to put a backer between checks/carbon copies and I write through five sets of checks at once.

I hate that when I wake up at 2 in the morning and I want to watch tv for 10 minutes before falling back to sleep and the only thing on is either Jesus Freaks or a psycho selling "The Gazelle" running machine.

I hate that I drive a V8 that gets 8 miles to the gallon and people think it's ok to make me drive places without giving me gas money because I'm too nice to leave them stranded.

I hate that people care about things just because it's "the thing to care about" for the day. No one cares on Monday that 9 soldiers died in Iraq, but that same day it makes front page news that Paris Hilton's sentence got cut by 30 days. That's not hot.

I hate that phrase, "that's hot". Knock it off. The person who coined it is only famous because she's a whore. Is that "hot"?

I hate "Construction Zones" on the highway that last 10 years. If you didn't have the money to finish the job, why did you start it? Seriously, it makes our state look like shit.

I hate margarine. You AREN'T Butter.

I hate when the best things happen at the worst moments.

I hate the sound of a time clock when you clock into work. Can't they make one that doesn't make a massive "thump". It's 2008.

I hate flip flop that cost 3 dollars. You know they are going to destroy your feet, but they're 3 dollars.

I hate sleeping in cars on long drives. You go to sleep in one town and wake up in another. I get confused if I wake up on the opposite side of the bed.

I hate telephones with annoying rings. They should let you test the rings at the store before you buy the phone. How am I supposed to know if the ring for my new phone isn't going to drive me/my dog absolutely insane every time it rings?

I hate people on the radio with "non-radio" voices.

I hate the fair. It's really just a place for juvenile delinquents to run rampant and 15 year old girls to get hit on by 40 year old men.

I hate local television commercials. Don't make a commercial that costs 60 bucks and put it on CBS. I don't care if you have "amazing service" at "half the cost". You Suck.

I hate people on Myspace that have 9 trillion friends. Do you really want to be known for being the person with the least amount of real-world responsibilities to consume the time in your day?

I hate running outdoors. You're trying to get healthy but everyone still sees you looking fat in the process.

I hate CDs that only play in certain CD Players. Who decided to make ones different than others. Did someone see the one CD Player that plays them all and say, "Hey, lets make ours only play certain kinds of music"? You are stupid.

I hate when a group of Mexicans speak Spanish and I don't know what they are saying. They could be talking about how great grapes are and I'll think they are talking about me. America. Speak English.

I hate forgetting to put suntan lotion on one part of my body. Blotchy sunburns are not attractive.

I hate overly excited waiters. It's just lunch.

I hate people with novelty license plates. Is it really that important that we all know you're a PIMPDDY?

I hate cats. They're too good for everyone, yet they beg to be fed and must live indoors.

I hate that I used to have Starz and Showtime and nothing was ever on. Now I have HBO and Encore and nothing is ever on.

I hate bums who have pets. You are a mooching contradiction.

I hate when people walk slower than the speed of smell through a cross-walk. Just because you are a pedestrian does not mean I won't kill you with my vehicle.

I hate flying now-a-days. I don't have a gun. I am not a terrorist. I am not smuggling drugs. I don't praise Allah. I do want a window seat. I don't have plastic explosives in my water bottle. I don't care what the in-flight movie is (like it would matter if I did). You don't have to keep telling me to put my seatbelt on. I don't need to know where the life jackets are, we're flying to LA (it's land the whole way you fucking idiot).

I hate people who wear tennis shoes without socks. You spent 150 dollars on Jordan's and can't afford 4 dollar socks? I hope you get athlete's foot.

I hate getting messages that end with, "If you don't repost this within the next 4 seconds, you will never have sex again" I have sex with girls all the time while NOT reposting. How do you like me now.

I hate when people leave their phones on in quiet places and when it rings they answer them in a voice that is inappropriately loud so people think they are "hip". Cell phones were invented like 15 years ago. If you just got one, you are poor and its probably my cell phone that got stolen that you are talking on. Stop trying to be cool.

I hate girls who used to be bitches because the used to be pretty. You are fat now and no one likes you. Go cry in your raw cookie dough, that's what you get.

I hate Bluetooth ear pieces. The world is doomed if people are too lazy to hold a phone up to their ear for a 30 second conversation. You look like a chode who spent their last dollar on lazy.

I hate social security. If you didn't have the foresight to plan for your future, you shouldn't get to have one.

I hate math. The only people who should be required to take math classes are the people who make calculators.

I hate people who say "huh" even though you know they heard you the first time. I just sit there and stare at them when they say "huh". You heard me retard.

I hate people who use Post-Its at an inappropriate rate. They are suppost to be reminders, not binder paper.

I hate when people call me "Sport" or "Bud". I have a better job than you do, I am more highly educated, and I will slap you in the mouth if you call me that again.

I hate people who buy a $70K truck and make 10 dollars an hour, live with their parents, and can't afford gas or insurance. Killer ride bro.

I hate it when I flip someone the bird on the road and they pretend not to see me because they know they drive like a toddler. I get no satisfaction.

I hate wine snobs. It's booze. You're an alcoholic. Here's a glass of water.

I hate baseball. If you can be 50 pounds overweight and have someone run for you after you hit a flying object and still be considered an "athelete"...

I hate American Idol. 180 million people watching burnt-out celebrities rate a bunch of karaoke singers is about as entertaining as Donald Trump screwing a llama while it runs across a field (which I would totally watch).

I hate that houses cost 500K and you aren't allowed to just find some land and build your own.

I hate trendy accessories. I believe that when someone buys a Gucci bag and puts a Coach wallet inside, they are unhappy with their life.

I hate the porn girls who send me messages and try to be my friend on myspace. I write them messages all the time about eating shit and foot rot and warts...they leave me alone after that.

I hate telemarketers. If you are going to call me noon, I might politely tell you that your job is lame. If you call me at 7pm during dinner with my family, I am going to tell you that your life is worthless and your children think you are a failure. Don't cry, it's true.

I hate when businesses have crappy "hold" music on their phones. I don't want to hear Paul Harvey talk about Garlique or whatever while I'm trying to remember what it was I was calling about in the first place.

I hate people who voted for President Bush, twice, and now complain that he is a tool. You're the reason our country is fucked up. I hate you. (Thanks Brianne)

I hate girls who only look pretty with make-up. If you get out of the shower the morning after we hook up and look like you got beat to death with a hammer, that is false advertisement.

I hate being the only one in our house that does dishes besides the girlfriends of the guys. You live there too fellas. Don't be fucking lazy. Clean up after yourself. You aren't 6 years old. Dicks.

This list was brought to you as a public service announcement to further spread daily cheer by Daris Smith.

Have a fantastic day.

There was an old woman who lived in...a 30k dollar Roger Vivier.

Jay Ay Em saw this crazy stiletto jamming ass down I80 coming back from Sonoma and was quick enough to grab a snapshot. She's guessing it's going to or from the Sex and the City premiere. I'm guessing Serena Williams is crawling through her closet right now super pissed that she can't find her favorite pumps.

Nice snag Cutch.

Cine-moi

IRON MAN
This weekend I was lucky enough to see Robert Downey doing something other than snorting blow, running guns, and stashing hookers in the trunk of a Maserati. Granted, he did play a womanizing playboy fueled on scotch and scripted wit. Iron Man turned out to be a pretty fun flick with Jr. holding the reigns as the comic relief as well as a dramatic acting force that makes the movie worth watching. Though we don't see Iron Man come to life until the final 30 or 40 minutes of the movie, Hollywood's "seed of sequel necessity" is planted using the incredibly deep character development which consumes roughly 90 minutes of the drama/action flick. Apparently the CGI budget for the film was cut short in an effort to afford The Downey. Oddly enough, Jr. was only paid 75 dollars for the roll and the other 250 million went to Tanqueray, extras willing to put out, Rogaine, a collection of vehicles leased from Beverly Hills Audi, and a legal team on retainer.


INDIANA JONES AND THE KINGDOM OF THE CRYSTAL SKULL
Most of the time, if I were going to give away key plot points of a movie, and you have yet to actually go see the movie, I would tell you to stop reading right now, go see the movie and then come back and read. This is the exception. No matter what you know or don't know about the plot of this movie, it is going to be the same film. Plot holds about as much weight in this film as Calista Flockhart standing on a weight station scale, in zero gravity, after not eating for a week and a half. The movie opened without any type of introduction and I found myself turning and looking up toward the projection window for a drunken operator who had started the movie half way through. But alas, he was sober and right on cue. The development of the new characters comes at the audience so fast it would make Paris Hilton's music career seem long lived; the plot is so incredibly unstable the Vietnam veteran's memorial amputee unit would have a better chance at doing a conga line; and the ending makes as much sense as the cast of 'The L Word' playing an underwater game of rugby against a group of quadriplegic Chinese immigrants high on ecstasy. It's that odd.


Anywho. I finally saw the newest Rambo last night, and it turns out a movie can actually have no emotional attachment to the audience what-so-ever and still be awesome. If you are in the mood to see the entire Korean nation get man-raped by a 60 year old Italian with roid rage, check that shit out. Good stuff.

Looking back...and smiling

The trivial yet crucial question that comes up in someone's mind when they meet a new friend for the first time is this, "what will this person think about me when they are gone?". Granted, this eternal question may be presented in a plethora of fashions, but we all think about it in some sense or another. I learned tonight that the only way to truly generate a legitimate answer is to think about the question from another point of view. How did I see them as they left? In all honesty, I think we will all find that we were so concerned about our own safety and comfort level that we disregard the satisfaction of the other person. I was lucky enough to meet someone who made it really easy to be as corny, lame, and awkward as I would normally be while at the same time keeping me interested in everything they had to say. The moral of this story is this:

No matter how uncomfortable you may be around a new friend, if they are a person worth talking to, you will not hide behind your fear, insecurities, or inability to make eye contact(sorry about that, it's my 'thing'). And once the person has gone, don't think about the things you did wrong, think about the things they did right; the things that made you happy to have the conversation in the first place. Win Win.

The Anisette

So I’ve been boring lately, going to work then going home and going to bed. As a man who defines his life by the amount of mischief and compromising situations he can get himself into, I find this unacceptable. So, in an effort to expand the horizons of my writing repertoire and necessary exposure, I am getting a little staff going to contribute and move this blog thing to the next level. The current staff of the blog you are reading has purchased The Anisette domain and will be moving on to bigger and better things. In the near future the “Daily Daris” will become “The Anisette (theanisette.com)” and artistic contributions of any kind will be accepted to be posted on the site the next day. I am talking to the boys at Wrecking Ball promotions in Santa Cruz about getting some promo stuff together once the site is up. I am pretty excited about this and the time I have had to spend getting it going is partly responsible for my inability to supply you with delicious tidbits of poisonous literature. It will be back and going shortly.

Thanks for reading!!

Arabica(L)

Turns out 2 cups of coffee and two shots of espresso is a bit much for a person of my naturally energetic disposition. So far I've made a string cheese last 45 minutes while successfully re-organizing my entire iTunes folder, washing the telephone headset in my office, changing out my picture frames with newer (hotter) female celebrities, and coloring all of the blue states on my political calendar red(and vise versa).



To sum it up, I feel as if my heart may erupt from my chest cavity, land on my desk, and challenge me to a dance off.

On Being Home

Great time in Chico this weekend. I got to see my boys and my girls and the cat that only a person with a sense of humor could love. I have to start by saying I am sorry to those of you who I was supposed to spend time with and flaked on. I know I am an asshole for missing out on times and the only way for me to even begin to make it up to you is by saying I'm sorry and promise to see you again in the near future. Eli, grand fiesta bitch. Much love. Katie, I miss you more than you know and I hope to see you soon. Jeff and Kylie, congrats on the graduations and welcome to the working class. It's shitty. Cory Lee, you look like your ten years old and it makes me smile. Don't ever grow old Peter Pan. Jen Hall, I finally got to meet you and I must say that your butt is the 8th wonder of the world...and Aca Taco at 2:30 in the morning is the only way to eat a burrito. I think I've got what I need to complete the story of my life (up until now) from this weekend...time to get this written.

I love you all and I'll get back at you shortly.