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.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Monday, June 16, 2008
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.
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.
Sunday, June 15, 2008
On the verge. In the Fringe.
Check out The Fringe Magazine as it is one of the dopest publications around. Truth.
Friday, June 13, 2008
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.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
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.
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.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
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