Back at it

Well, here I am again. I turn 30 in two weeks, I'm barely working because it's the Winter, and I got dumped by my girlfriend on Friday night, leaving me single once again. With the increase in age and now free time, I guess it's back to doing what I seem to do best. Coming across random adventures of stupidity.

And I didn't waste much time, as I went out with some friends on Saturday to try and clear my head, as sitting around at home alone was getting very depressing.

So, the crowd wanted to head down to a place called Marvin in the U Street corrider, so my brother, his girlfriend and I grabbed the metro down to Dupont and hailed a cab in the pouring rain over to U Street to check this place out. It was OK, though very crowded, but most of the people in the group wanted to bail on it after a short while, and head over to a place called Bar Nun, where a guy we play football with bartends. My buddies Brian and Mike showed up right as the crowd was moving, so I told them I'd pass on Bar Nun (which upon further commentary didn't seem like my kind of place) and meet up with them if it was a good scene.

After another round of just the three of us, having not heard from my brother about Bar Nun, we decide to head over to St. Ex, where another friend of ours, Chad, said it was pretty fun. We get there, it's OK, and I proceed to suck down some Captains and a shot of Jamieson (not my call). It's getting late and I still haven't heard from Kevin.

Brian and Mike decide to bail, leaving me and Chad to finish our drinks, all the while being acosted by a fat chick that Chad did an improv class with. Fat chick doing improv...relying on her wit...who would have guessed?

Seeing no redeeming virtue in anything further at this place, we decide to just head over to Bar Nun to see what's going on. We walk over there but are shockingly unable to get in since we are two single dudes, even though it is like 2 AM. We assume this is kind of gay, so Chad takes off and I call my brother to tell him to come leave, since we were ready to go anyway. He and his girlfriend comes out and tell me all about the place. And here is actually why they wouldn't let two dudes in:

IT WAS FUCKING SWINGERS NIGHT!!!

Yep, Kev said they were only letting couples and single girls in and the place was for people to meet up for group sex. To encourage the mood, there were Asian women walking around in thongs, short school girl skirts and no tops. Kevin was approached by the owner (female) about having a three way. And I am so glad we decided against even following them there.

So on to the metro. After wandering for about 10 minutes trying to get a cab, we walked over to the U St metro completely soaked and had to get on there...randomly getting a cameo from Chad departing from McDonalds to give us directions. Unfortunately, the U St Metro is on the green line, which meant we had to take it to Gallery Place, then switch, before heading out to Grosvenor...and I had to pee.

I make it all the way to Tenleytown before I am literally in physical pain I have to go so bad. Everyone with me (we ended up meeting up with two girls that we knew that got on at Dupont) is saying we're only a short way away, and to hold it. And then the worst thing possible happens...they stop midway between Tenleytown and Friendship Heights because of track work. At this point, I get up and start combing the train for a bottle (yeah, it was that bad), but all I find is a grocery bag with a bag of sub rolls and some deli meat in it. Luckily, the train starts moving again, so I think I'll be OK. We pull into Friendship Heights and then we stop...and sit. Kevin's telling me to run out and pee in the trash can, I'm debating just getting off and running to the street to go somewhere, but both don't really seem like good ideas. And then I make the executive decision.

Yep, I grabbed the grocery bag, pulled out the bag of rolls, took all the rolls out, kneeled down in the corner seat of the metro hidden by the wall, and pissed into a clear plastic bag. When it was filled (I really fucking filled that bag), it was slightly dripping, so I double wrapped it with a second grocery bag that was also inside, sprinted from the train to the trash can on the terminal and made my deposit. A new first for me...peeing in a bag. Good times.

Things That Suck 2

Once again, I think I'll rant about something that really sucks.

Has anyone been to the Burger King at Montgomery Mall recently? Or perhaps it is just Burger Kings, in general? This place is located in the corner down by Sears and right next to a giant children's play area (don't even get me started on how much that sucks) and I swear this part of the mall is where people come to die. The rest of the mall seems bright and cheerful, especially with all of the Christmas decorations up now. However, when you venture closer to this corner, partially hidden by the escalators and Ice Cream of the Future stand, all that is good seems to be sapped from your soul.

And the main source of this horror is that stinking Burger King. I used to go here back in high school and always remember it being somewhat on the dirty side, but now it's just gotten comical. Homeless people sit randomly around the seats, an odd hispanic woman wanders the soda machine and condiments area, as I walk up to the register to order.

And then I wait.

And then I wait some more.

And then I here some guy flirting in Spanish with two women behind the large metallic wall of grills and other Burger making bullshit. And then I wait some more.

Sweet Jesus...finally the guy comes around the corner, obviously surprised to have any business. I place my order, get my ticket stub and move down to fill my soda, dodging the Spanish lady, who I assume has some mental illness because she's talking to herself and shaking slightly.

My chicken sandwich comes shooting down the metallic serving slide a few minutes later (like she couldn't just hand it to the guy?) and he starts bagging it up. Then he reaches for the fries in the bin and starts trying to scoop them up. HUH? I just waited for 5 minutes for the sandwich after waiting another 5 or more minutes to even place my order, and he's trying to give me fries that were sitting there the whole time. The King would not be proud. After I explained that this is not how it's going to go down, I'm waiting for another 5 minutes for fresh fries, before rapidly exiting the premises, every ounce of joy, hope, and love sucked from my being.

Perhaps these people sitting randomly around were not homeless people after all, but had just sat in this dungeon for too long that they had no will left to go on with their normal lives. Needless to say, I must avoid this area of the mall from now on. Hell, it even sucked the life out of Sam Goody, a once flourishing store that sat just across the way. Man, does that place suck.

Things that Suck

Since it has now been almost 4 months since my last post, you can sort of see that I am not really sticking with this blogging thing like I did before. In an attempt, however, to rekindle my creative juices, I'm starting a new recurring theme, much like my old Top 10 Lists and Brain Farts. This is along the lines of my Brain Farts, but will give me greater pleasure to spout off about. So, I hope to add regularly to my new topic "Things that Suck."

In these posts, I will post all things that piss me off, irritate me, seem exceptionally stupid, or in any way suck. Feel free to add your own suck moments, as I'm sure it will be quite cathartic for us all. And now, my first rant:

Why in the hell do they insist on playing the same three commercials during an entire 3 hour football game on TV? By halftime, I am so sick of seeing that same shit, I really want to change the channel, but am fearful I might miss game action, so I'm forced to sit through it. And the worst of these is that damned TV commerical that shows Chad Pennington throwing a TD pass in the corner of the end zone, but by the "magic of the quality of the TV, we don't have to wait around for the replay" to see this jackass at the end dance around like a country hillbilly in front of his screen. Who dances like that during a football game? And why aren't his friends kicking his ass for being such a douche? I'm pretty sure there's a black guy in the room. How is he just letting him get away with dancing like that? And how, if I hate this commercial so much, do I know all these vivid details? Because I have to suffer through this every 10 minutes for three straight hours. Man, does that piss me off.

Express?

So tonight, I finish up with work and as usual, I'm not in the mood for cooking. I've got a football game later, so I figure eating something of higher quality might be the best way to go, so I head over to Balducci's to pick up one of their meal combos. I roll in there and make my selection (seared tuna with sesame crust...quite good, I've had it before) and two side items, head over to grab myself a Dr. Brown's Cream Soda (haven't had that in a long time) and saunter on up to the register. Yes, I saunter...it's Balducci's god damn it.

Anyway, most of the aisles are pretty crowded, but then I see a sign on the last register: Express. Hell, yeah. I've only got two things...this makes sense. So I stand in the line, not really paying attention, but then I notice things are moving a little slow. And that's when I realize...the checker is retarded. Yes, legitimately suffering from Down's Syndrome. Not me joking and saying they're "retarded," full on clinically diagnosed with a mild case of Down's Syndrome.

So, let's recap. Express Lane. Down's Syndrome checker. Uh...does this make sense to you? Express...I don't think so. This has got to be some sick joke played by the manager. Like calling a three-legged dog Speedy or your fat friend Tiny. There is gonna be nothing express about this exchange. And 15 minutes and two people in front of me later (yeah, I couldn't give up on my line at this point) I finally got out of there and got home to enjoy my tuna steak. Ha ha, very funny Mr. Balducci's manager. See you in hell.

The Anniversary

Well, for those who weren't counting, yesterday was the one year anniversary of the day that I broke my jaw. Thankfully, I have completely healed (though my mouth still doesn't close right and that bugs me some times) and I am also back to the weight I was prior to the injury.

Needless to say, I was worried of some sort of jinx associated with the day, so I was happy to learn that there was no football game scheduled this weekend (yes, I'm back to playing...ain't nobody making me stop on their terms). So, yesterday, my day goes by uneventfully taking a trip to the Outlet Mall in Woodbridge and buying a bunch of cheap shit to wear. After that I met up with some friends to celebrate Ike's 30th birthday with some dinner and then headed out to Union Jack's for some drinks with Jaclyn, her sister and some other people.

The night is going along fine, I'm getting drunk, Jaclyn and her sister are dancing on the speakers as usual, and I am still without incident for the evening. But I wouldn't be writing this if I got off completely unscathed.

So, technically the day has passed, it's about 1 AM on Sunday and we're still at the bar...and Jaclyn's sister is shitfaced. I'm talking the dancing with random dudes and throwing your head up in the air and spinning around even though you're not on the dance floor kind of shitfaced. And it's that second part that does us in. I'm chillin by the beer girl, having just met back up with everyone, when I realize that her sister is plowed.

I suggest that it might be time to go, before she starts a fight, and wouldn't you know it. Yep, she has spun into a 5'9" black guy with dread locks and knocked his beer to the ground. This kind of shit happens all the time at a bar, I've had it happen to me, and I've bumped into someone before myself. It happens, you either get a beer for the guy or all is just left as it is, and everyone goes their merry way.

Well, not on my jaw-breaking anniversary, of course. So Ziggy Marley over here is quick to start mouthing off at her sister, and I'm still over by the wall, assuming everything will clear itself up. I send Jaclyn over to clear things up, assuming a normal guy isn't gonna start shit with girls and perhaps her sister is not in the best mindset to talk this one out.

Well, apparently, neither is Lenny Kravitz, because when Jaclyn gets over to him, he decides to start in on her, calls her and her sister bitches (among other things) and then he grabs Jaclyn by the arm. Now, I'll be the first one to admit that I'm not looking for a fight, nor do I consider myself a fighter. And on this particular night, I'm especially not looking for trouble...but there are certain things you just don't do, and putting your hands on a women while mouthing off like that is one of them.

So, apparently, my right mind shuts off at this point and I jump in ready to throwdown like a jackass (I've been watching too many Segal movies) and I grab old Man-Ram's arm off of Jaclyn and put myself between him and the two girls. Now this is where things get kinda cool for me, and I will deem this my "movie hero" moment of my life thusfar, as all ladies in earshot were probably dreaming of me while they slept with their loser boyfriends last night (hey, this is my story...write your own if you don't like it)

Anyway, our drunken banter goes down like this:
Me: Whoa, whoa, whoa. You just don't do that.
Him: Fuck you man. I ain't got no problem with you.
Me: Uh, yes you do. Because if you have a problem with them, then you have a problem with me. (I'm totally not shitting you. I really did say this...so badass) And I'm pretty sure you have a problem with most of the guys in here if you're gonna grab a woman like that. (yep, actually said this too...not making this part up)
Him: Fuck that bitch. She fucking spilled my beer and doesn't even fucking apologize.
Me: Well, if she spilled your beer, I'm sorry. We'll get you another one.
Him: Fuck you.

The next couple minutes are your standard meathead bullshit, with him calling Jaclyn and her sister names as they try to chime in and me declining his nice invitation to step outside with him. Perhaps, that's because I said something along the lines of "what kind of fucking pussy goes and puts his hands on a woman over a beer?" I think he knew what fucking pussy I was talking about. Probably wasn't the best way to diffuse the problem, but if you had heard this guy, I doubt you would have been any nicer. Anyway, he says some shit that I kinda blacked out, but it must have been bad because Jaclyn and her sister said that I leaned in at him and looked like I was gonna swing. I don't remember exactly, as I had a lot of beer and by this time adrenaline has likely taken over.

Anyway, I guess this is what sparked his friend to jump in and apologize and ask me to be the bigger man and walk away, because Wyclef's just drunk and doesn't know what he's doing. Pretty much your standard bar fight scenario. I back down, the bouncers come over by this time, and look to escort him out. The beer girl saw the whole thing so they didn't even hassle me, which is nice since I was probably too drunk to talk to the cops hanging around outside.

And thankfully, I write to you this Sunday evening having not spent the night in jail or in a hospital, and I enjoyed solid foods on July 1 for the first time in two years. Happy 4th of July.

Disaster on Tuckerman

So I'm driving back to my house today at around 2 PM, so I can meet a guy about adding stairs to my deck and to let my dog out. It's like any other day, it's nice outside, and I'm frazzled from the craziness that the early-Spring brings the poolman.

I make the turn from Old Georgetown down Tuckerman Lane and I'm in the right lane getting ready to turn into my neighborhood (OK, stalkers...now you know where I live) when I see the two cars in front of me slam on their brakes and come to a jolted stop. Great...they just got into an accident. I switch over to the left lane behind a UPS truck, but then things start getting weird.

The UPS truck pulls to the left and stops in the middle of the street, cars coming the other way all stop and people are getting out of their cars. I slow down, figuring these cars might be pretty messed up, when I realize what just went down.

I come to a stop right next to the first car of the two, an SUV...and there in front of that car lay a girl on the ground. She's not moving. This fucking intersection!! I've lived here for over 2 years now, and frequently walk my dog across Tuckerman to get to the park on the other side. And almost every time I try to cross, people come tearing down the street, completely oblivious to the reality that a car should yield to pedestrians in the crosswalk. Pulling out of my street in my car is just as difficult and I've always wondered why we don't have a light here.

Sadly, it takes shit like this before the county will consider doing something like that. And there lay this girl, finally moving her leg ever so slowly. A man with no shirt is standing over her, a frantic look in his face. Women have congregated on the sidewalk, crying and making calls...assumedly for an ambulance, and the UPS guy has gotten over to the scene. I'm not a doctor and there's really no point in me getting involved, so I sit there in my car, rattled by yet another surreal experience going on around me.

As blood begins to stain the asphalt around her, I can only hope that an ambulance will get here soon and that she will be alright. She is likely one of my neighbors...though one I don't recognize, and as the UPS guy begins acting like a traffic cop directing me and the row of cars behind me past this scene, I am left to wonder.

Bienvenido a Miami

It's been a long time, but I have finally returned after experiencing some pretty crazy shit this past weekend, which had to be written about and saved for posterity. I hope you enjoy:

For those of you that weren't aware, this past weekend I made a trip down to Miami with some buddies to celebrate my friend, Kupe's bachelor party. In the past, we have hit up the likes of Las Vegas and New York City for bachelor parties and I've seen some pretty crazy shit during these escapades, as seen in some of the slide shows I have on this blog. However, nothing could have prepared me for the most surreal 2 hours of my life on Friday night.

After checking into the Fountaine Bleu hotel and seeing that my buddy Ike had hooked us up with a ridiculously large suite, we decided to get things started by heading to a dog track to watch the NCAA games and bet blindly on dogs running in circles. The track is out in the middle of nowhere and the clientele patronizing this establishment are reminiscent of a mid-week, mid-day Atlantic City outing. Nonetheless, we settle down at a table, order a round of $1 Rolling Rocks, several plates of chicken fingers and fries, and begin throwing money at random dogs such as Mo's High Steppen, who coincidentally won me no money. We knew it was going to be a long night when the waitress brought us our 4th round short one beer, informing us that they ran out and that we could have another, but it would be hot. Yes, hot.

We headed out of there, I was up about $20 by dumb luck, and we walked out to the parking lot to see absolutely no cabbies. Figuring we'd have better luck on the main road, we trecked out to the corner where a McDonald's sat and within a few minutes a cab showed up. Now this is when things start to get a little weird.

So, we tell the cab where we're heading (back to South Beach) and he proceeds to scratch the side of his car on the curb, before jumping it as he pulls into the McDonald's parking lot. Perhaps this should have warned us to reconsider using this guy, but hell, we're in Miami.
Within moments of driving, we've struck up a conversation with Jorge (don't call me Hor-hey) Sanchez, a Cuban-born, 60-something who drives his cab because it's fun, not to make money. In fact, he reset our meter after driving about 2 miles, laughing that he doesn't give a shit. Is he drunk??

So, we keep driving, he's telling us that he hates Cubans and hopes Castro dies so that "some of these assholes" will go back, and then we start talking about women. The converstaion takes a turn for the worst when he starts telling us stories about his ex-wife and how much of a whore she was, and that leads us to the most bizarre of all cabbies moments.

Old Jorge decides that he's gonna show us a picture of his new girlfriend. She's a crackhead, and she's in rehab now, and she used to be a hooker, but she's all his...and he usually doesn't like showing anyone pictures of her because then they want to date her..but hell, we're like family now. So he reaches for his cell. phone and is having trouble getting to the pictures, so all attention is on the phone, not the road, as illustrated by the three lanes we're swerving in. Again, we were suprisingly not upset by this. But we were upset by the series of pictures that ended up developing.

There before our eyes, on this old Cuban's grainy cell. phone sat a picture of a relatively fat black woman seated in his passenger seat. He instructed Kupe to push the button on the phone to continue to cycle through the pictures, which went from bad to worse. Now she's sitting there topless. Now she's got her legs up. Whoa...where did her underwear go? Oh my god, is that his wang? And her mouth? Yeah, I would have to say the last thing I would want to do is want to date this girl. Dear god, what is wrong with this city??

So, we eventually make it to our destination...The Clevelander, where upon our exit, Jorge once again lowers our $24.00 fare to an even $20...I mean he really doesn't give a shit...and he lives in his cab...he told us.

Happy to be out of that surreal experience I walk towards the bouncer for Clevelander only to have a couple walk right in front of my path. And they both have pythons drapped across their shoulders??!!! What is in the water around here?

We walk into the bar, house music is pumping, so you all know I'm super thrilled. I mean, get me a glow stick and a couple of small Asians and my night would be made. But instead, all I got was a guy dancing on a stage wearing a costume like the Last Samurai, with some sort of animals horns on his helmet, and his swinging a flaming whip to the beat. Uh yeah...normally all of this would be shocking to me, but I did just see a picture of a 60 year old man getting his dick sucked by a crack whore. And perhaps it's better I saw all of this, because it destracted from the $280 bar tab we ran up over the next 4 hours of drinking.

Bienvenido a Miami...and that's only our first night.

J-Man: Imaginary Ninja

So, today I finally decided to use my gift certificates that I got for Christmas and my birthday on some clothes at the mall. I was bored...it's slow at work...so I headed over there around 2 PM, and after an hour or so of shopping (way more than my norm, but what else do I have to do) I walked out with six shirts, and two pairs of cargo khakis. Man, do I love those cargo khakis, and my old ones have a tear in the crotch, so this was perfect timing.

Anyway, as you can picture this scene, it involves me wandering around the mall and dropping into Old Navy, JC Penney, Nordstroms, Express (yeah, they have men's stuff...and it's nice), Gap, J.Crew, Banana Republic and even Guess. And I'm doing all of this alone. Well, after a few minutes of wandering in and out of stores by myself, I realize I need the input of someone else in buying clothes. I'm color blind to begin with and I suck at picking out clothes. Usually, if I shop alone, I buy a bunch of stuff, hate all but one of the things I bought, and sit with the other clothes in my closet for several years because I'm too lazy to return them and too proud to give them away to Salvation Army.

So, rather than burden other people in the store with my problems, I begin talking and discussing the clothing options with myself. Yes, this might be construed as insane, but I had some really good insights about which clothes looked best on me, and since I wasn't acting alone, I felt more confident with my choices.

After an hour of this, my mind is running like mad, coming up with wild ideas since I'm talking to myself. I'm done with my shopping and start walking outside. I'm parked over by Old Navy, which is near the bus stop, so lots of people are heading out this way as well. Anyway, as I make my way outside, I take a few steps when a kid, maybe about 16 or so, comes running up behind me and bumps into my bag.

Now usually, I'd just shrug this off as he continues running along towards the bus, but since I'm bordering on insanity after having been talking and shopping with myself for the past hour, the idea crosses my mind that he was attempting to steal my bag.

It is at this point, when my imagination takes over and thankfully none of this truly went down...but in my alternate world, he grabbed my bag and started running. So I started chasing after him. Luckily, he's shorter than me so I start catching up to him and lunge for him. I'm able to tackle him to the ground, but I don't know if I can merely grab the bag from him and asume I'll be able to walk away...so I begin punching him in and about the head. I yell for someone to call the police as I continue to beat down on him, fearful that if I stop smacking him in the head, (and now I've moved on to kneeing him in the chest,) that he'll have a chance to return the favor or pull out a weapon. I slowly make my way to standing, as he lies on the ground. I've gotten my bag back and I order him to stay down. He keeps trying to get up, so now I'm forced to stomp him on the back and kick him in the chest and stomach with my Timberland boots. A scene is developing around us, but I'm not letting this guy up.

Finally, the police show up, but they're wondering if they should arrest me, as the kid is a bloody mess. They start questioning me and ask me what happened, and I tell them:

This is why men shouldn't go shopping.

Expired

So, I've got a football game in an hour and I just decided that I want to grab something quick and light so I have energy but I'm not weighed down. I walk into my pantry and see my boxes of cereal, and I'm like...perfect. I know I just bought some milk a couple weeks ago when I went to the grocery store, so I grab a box of Berry Blast Cheerios (which are great, by the way). It's a little light, so I notice I have a second one, so I grab it as well, in case I don't have enough in the first one. The second box has a little bit more in it, but it's also less than half full. Wonder why I opened a second...oh well.

So I open up the box and pour some Cheerios into a bowl. The Berry Blast variety has some dried fruit in it as well, and as I gaze upon the dried fruits, I'm thinking something doesn't look quite right. I don't now how to better explain it, but it looks like the dried fruit...is dried out. Moreso than usual?? The raspberries are downright scary so I take a gander at the box and try to locate the expiration date. JUNE 06. Well, that ain't good, these are over seven month expired. So I dump the bowl and check the other box. Even worse: NOV 05. Yeah, I ain't kidding you. 2005!!!! I didn't even bother to open up the packaging. I walked back into the pantry and saw some Fruit Harvest...DEC 05. Some other odd granola and fruit thing...MAY 06. Ok, I have a serious problem with eating cereal on a timely basis here.

Thankfully, I had seen some Boo Berry on the shelves at Target back around Halloween and decided to grab a box for old time sakes. I mean, these are like the caviar of monster cereals. You can find Count Chocula all the time...Franken Berry here and there...but Boo Berry was the thing of legends when I was 8. Kids would claim they'd eaten them, but there was never any solid proof. Anyway, I checked the box: MAY 07. Hell yeah. But then that got me thinking about two things:

1) If this expiration date is MAY 07 and I remember buying it in October, how old must those other boxes have been????!!!!

2) I just ate a bowl of super sweet blueberry flavored cereal with purple colored milk and I'm about to go play football now.

This might not have been the best idea after all.

Brain Farts 8

Well, been a long time once again and I blame the Holidays, excessive drinking, and illness for the latest delays. Rather than dwell on the past and retell stories of the past couple weeks at this time, I'm gonna throw out a bunch of things that I've been thinking about or seeing lately, in yet another installment of Brain Farts: Not quite the full shit, but still entertaining:

• So with the recent head cold I've gotten, I've been forced to stay inside and kill most of my afternoons (I don't work full days this time of year) watching TV or movies while lying in bed. This, sadly, gets very old very fast. That is why yesterday, I decided to give myself something new to waste my time with. And this is where things got ugly. I went to White Flint, into the video game store, and picked myself up a copy of Final Fantasy XII. Yes, I know...but it gets worse. I then took my new treasure home and headed into my basement, where my PS2 is located. The configuration of the couches was not condusive to the amount of playing that would be necessary, so I grabbed the loveseat and rotated it so that it is facing directly at the television, about 7 feet from the big screen. I then brought down my comforter from my bed, a pitcher of water and gatorade, lit a fake log in my fireplace and settled into my new Nerd Fort for the next 7 hours. Yes, 7 hours. Hell, at least it's not World of Warcraft.
• So I was just reading that Dodger stadium is going to be introducing a new "all-you-can-eat" seating section in right field. You pay $35 (as opposed to $10 for standard left field) and you can eat all the hot dogs, peanuts, popcorn, nachos and soda you want. This could arguably be the greatest and sickest idea I've ever heard of. I feel sick after two hot dogs...if I'm challenged by the words "all-you-can-eat", it's gonna be a bad scene in the bathroom by the 7th inning stretch. If RFK adds this to the repertoire, look out.
• You ever buy something at a store and when you go to pay for it, you feel like the checker is judging you? Since I'm not feeling well, I went to Giant to get some drugs. Well, Sudafed was on sale for 2 for $6. Being the thrifty Jew I am, I grabbed four boxes and took them to the checkout. The lady gave me this look like I was doing something illegal. Or maybe she didn't, and I'm just paranoid from all the drugs?
• I guess that's better than when I went to the Target a couple weeks ago and bought a 36 pack of condoms and 6 gatorades. Awkward.
• Why are dogs afraid of helium balloons? Regardless of whether I show them to be non-threatening, Chloe refuses to walk by a helium balloon. She got trapped upstairs the other day after one that had floated up to the skylights finally fell down onto the stairs. Naturally, I didn't want my dog to be afraid in her own house, so I grabbed a knife and stabbed all 20 balloons that were left in my house from my birthday.

Alright, that's it for now. I promise I'll write an entry summing up the cruise from last month as well as my birthday fiasco, which is a new J-Man classic. Until then...