J-Man goes to Chili Cookoff

So, as many of you may know, I went to the DC101 Chili Cookoff yesterday. It was the first time I've been to this event, which I believe has been going on for almost 20 years now. The headlining act, and the one I wanted to see, was Staind, though Live, Seether, and Finger Eleven were also performing, among others, making it a pretty inviting event.

I finished up a halfday of work (it's the Summer now...working on Saturdays. Ugh), then slipped on my standard music festival shirt (a basaeball shirt...seems festive and serves the purpose of both short and long sleeve shirt, so I'm weather adjustable). I head on over to Eric's place and grab a few beers before the show. Laurie and Dre are also going to the show, so they show up a little while later and it's off to the metro.

Everything is going along smoothly, we don't have to switch trains as it's right at Metro Center, which is on the red line, and I'm spouting off stories of stupid shenanigans which is making the people around us on the metro terribly uncomfortable. Then we get there.

This is when I start to wonder who the geniuses are that organized this shit show. After waiting in line around the block to get in, we are greeted by a guy sitting on the ground barely 50 feet into the place puking on himself. Yes, on himself. He is sitting Indian style (is that not PC anymore?) with his head down and proceeds to yak right on his legs (that was never PC). Did I mention that it's only 2:00?

Eric and Laurie make a b-line for the port-a-potties (more on that later) and I head to the "ticket mob." You see, at Chili Cookoff, you buy tickets for a dollar which can be used to buy stuff. Beer is 7 tickets. Not just one beer ticket, seven standard tickets. So about 100 people are packed around this tent (no line of course, that would make too much sense) pushing their way towards to disheveled bunch of volunteers who are counting out 50-100 tickets for each person. Why again did they make it 7 tickets instead of just 1??? I finally make my way to the front, get 56 tickets, (that's 8 beers and three minutes of counting) though she threw in a bunch more since she lost count, and moved on to my next line.

Yes, my next line. The beer line. I don't even want to revisit this in story form, but let me just say that the word line is being used very loosely. If line breaking were a true crime, everyone at the show would be in jail right now. And speaking of everyone at the show, oh what a wonderful bunch of characters I saw. Here's some of my highlights (or lowlights):

-About 30 thongs, ranging from attractive women who like the high rise thong, low rise jeans combo, to the "I'm so fat that everything hangs out so just deal with seeing my thong because I'm just hoping someone is drunk enough here to wanna sleep with me" type. (Perhaps I should have mentioned the Indian style yakker to these chicks) I got a few pics of the finer ones, you'll have to check my pics when I get them uploaded.

-I would have to say I saw about another 30 mohawks as well. As I've established in a past blog entry on my other blog, the mohawk is taking over for the mullet and there are two places both are usually if full force, amusement parks and music festivals. I've even created a few slogans for the mohawk, since the "business upfront, party in the back" worked so well for the mullet. Here are a few: "move the party up front and center"; "live every day like Mr. T"; "not just for her pubes anymore."

-Boobs, yes I saw boobs. Two sets in fact. One set was nice and it was on a girl who was standing in front of me during Staind, whose boyfriend kept flashing them off. This must have got her in the mood, because later she decided to flash them to everyone as she sat on his shoulders high above the crowd. Classy, I know. So, I took a movie of this exchange. Classier, I know.

-Wait, didn't I say I saw two sets of boobs? Oh yes, while waiting in the line for the pisser, I am unfortunate enough to turn to the line next to me just in time to see a 60+ year old women, who had that weathered, trailer park look to her grab out her saggy right boob, manhandle it upward and lick her nipple...THREE TIMES. I think I saw some liver spots. If I had had more beer (which is impossible given the line situation) I definitely would have thrown up everywhere.

And on that, note, I just realized that I am terribly hungover (I went to a sushi place and then Rocket Bar afterward, where drinks were purchased with cash, not seven f-ing tickets) and thinking about old saggy boobs is not helping. Glad I didn't eat any of that chili. Oh, yeah. Forgot to do that.

Brain Farts 9

While I likely have had random thoughts in the last year and a half, it looks as though I haven't posted a Brain Farts post in that long. Then again, I haven't posted all that much in general. Well, here's to coming back to the blogging with a hearty helping of incomplete thoughts. Not quite as funny as the whole shit, but still humorous.

• Yesterday it was nice and sunny, so when I got home I walked out onto my deck. It is at that moment that I decided the deck was entirely too crowded, what with the grill, big table, 8 chairs and two audomons. So being the ever compulsive individual I am, a solution needed to be made. So I took the glass off the giant table, set it aside, and chucked the table over the edge. Now I have more room.
• It happens with every girlfriend I've ever had, the moment after we've broken up and some time (some shorter than others) has passed. And then someone comes along and mentions that "oh yeah, she's dating some new guy now." While it's always a natural assumption they're going to find someone new, it's never a pleasant thing to hear about it. And so of course, this bomb from my latest ex-girlfriend is dropped on me about 4 drinks into last night by my buddy Dave. Here's our exchange: Me: She's in a relationship with someone already? Dave: Yeah, I thought you would have heard. Me: Uh, no. Dave: I'll get the first round of shots.
• For work on Friday, we needed to get a whole bunch of top soil to fill in a planter area to complete a backyard that I planned and renovated (it's quite awesome, I'll put up some pics like the HGTV star I am). So the natural choice for getting this top soil is Home Depot, where they have cubic foot bags of the stuff for just over a dollar. We had grabbed a few earlier in the week, but it wasn't enough, so we had to make a return visit to get some more. When I got to the area where it is stored, there are two empty pallets on the ground, and two more on the shelf above it. Thankfully, there are two full pallets on each of the three shelves above that. They're out of reach, so I turn to a guy who works there and ask him if we could get some of those. Here's our exchange: Me: Can you get us down some of those up there? Him: Nope, they're too high. Me: Well, can you get a forklift or something to get them down. Him: I already asked my manager earlier and he said we just can't get to it. So, I can see the top soil. I can almost even reach the bottom of the top soil. But, no, I can not buy the top soil. How does Home Depot stay in business? Oh yeah, the other 100 crazy gardening women that are running around grabbing plants and mulch.

Well, that's all for now. I'll try to keep up the posting, as there should be some craziness coming up with work picking up, and all the adventures that come with that.

Holding the Bag

So the weather is getting nicer and with that comes my increased desire to walk my dog. She gets super crazy when I even get near the table where her leash is, so you can imagine the excitement when I actually grab it and say the four letter word...SHIT. No, just kidding, it's WALK...you sick bastards. Anyway, the other day I decided to take Chloe for a walk across Tuckerman over to the Gables where both my brothers now live.

Crossing Tuckerman is always a chore, and of course, this particular day is no different. I make it to the island in the middle and the next guy sees us waiting there so he stops. I've seen a teenage girl get nailed by a car crossing the street (it's on another blog, and wasn't a funny one in the slightest) so we're a bit hesitant to start across the street even with this guy's nice gesture.

Sure enough, the jackass two behind him doesn't like the unexpected stop and (illegally) pulls sharply out from behind him to the right lane and speeds through the crosswalk. The guy who had stopped lays on the horn at this jackass, but he's oblivious to his obvious violation. Thankfully, I didn't expect any better.

The road is now clear, so Chloe and I run across and she proceeds to take a dump on the hill right next to the park, which tends to be her go to spot every time we take a walk. Whenever I pass people with dogs and see them pick up poop in a bag, I laugh, but sadly, I am now playing the role of poop grabber, which is not a pleasant place to be. I don't even touch my own shit, and here I am picking up crap from my dog's ass...I've seen what she eats, this is not cool. Why do I put myself through this? But it's gonna get worse. I do the old "bag inside out and tie off" routine and then walk over to the trash can by the fields to make the deposit, and we continue on our walk.

We walk another 10-15 minutes and are now on Sugarbush Lane, with another dog and its owner walking on the other side of the street. We approach the community pool and "Poop Machine" Chloe decides that it's time to make a second pile. What the fuck!!?? I only bring one bag when we go on walks and one poop grabbing is more than enough for me in a 24 hour period, so I'm not happy about this exchange. I make this known verbally, as I have no more bags and am anticipating a poop and run when I see the old lady and her dog looking over at us, waiting, watching, stalking. She wants to see some poop grabbing, and I know she's the type that's gonna make a scene if we bolt.

So, here I am, pile o' poop in the grass, Chloe feeling pretty good about herself, and me standing there without a bag. I check my pockets and am somewhat (but not too much) pleased to find two tissues that I have been carrying around during this whole swollen eye routine. Yep, I'm gonna have to do this. I've got an audience and my back's against the wall.

I put the tissues in my hand and reach down to grab the crap. I'm about to puke from the pure filthiness and warmth of this task, and am ready to run for the clubhouse to dump the dump in the a trashcan...and wouldn't you know it.

Right at this moment, a lady and her two teenage daughters(?) pull up in their car and want to ask me for directions. Are you kidding me??!! Well, I'm not kidding you. Standing there, with several logs of dog crap in my hand nuzzled within two tissues, I am telling this lady where the park on Gloxinia Road is. Apparently, she did not see the grave look of horror on my face, as she asks me to repeat my directions before I run towards the clubhouse, make the deposit, and thank god that I didn't puke all over the place.

And wouldn't you guess it, Chloe doesn't want to go in this direction so amongst her struggling, she finds a way to riggle free from her collar completely and stands there, uncollared, before running away from me, forcing me to chase her down and yell at her in order to get her to stop and get her collar back on.

And why do I walk this dog again???!!!

J-Man goes to the doctor

So, last Monday I headed to Strike Bethesda for my usual weekly bowling. We’re waiting in line to get our lane when this group of foreign guys (they had that look, you know what I’m talking about...don’t try and judge me) comes piling in and they stink of cigarettes. You know, that "I was just outside smoking a whole cigarette in two minutes since we can’t smoke inside here, I hate America" type of smell. Well, as they walk by me, I realize that I’m slightly allergic to this and my eyes start to twitch a bit. I shrug it off, but my right eye continues to itch off and on throughout the night.

A couple days pass, and my eye is still itching me. By Thursday, I wake up and my right eye has actually gotten red and feels like I’ve got something stuck in it. I ask people to check to see if I’ve got an eyelash or something going on, but nothing. By Friday, my eye is starting to swell, and I’m getting nervous. So nervous that I go the first route I usually never do...buy some sort of drugs to help it out. I swing by Target, grab myself some allergy drops, and actually put them into my eye.

By Saturday, my eye has gotten even more swollen, I have a vicious hangover from a party night after Davidson beat Wisconsin (but that’s another story), and I’m wondering if my eye is ever gonna get any better.

Nope. Sunday rolls around and now I feel like I look like a combination of Rocky from Rocky I (second Rocky reference on this blog in like two weeks!) and Sloth from Goonies (I’ll try to get a second Goonies reference soon). I need to go that next route, the route I rarely ever take. I’m going to go to the doctor.

You see, I don’t like going to the doctor. I don’t like taking the time to drive there. I don’t like filling out all my information, because I don’t know who my "primary care physician" is. I don’t like waiting in the waiting room with sick people, so I can contract a new disease that I didn’t come in with. Or just sitting there reading Us Weekly or watching CSPAN for an hour and a half because I don’t care about either. And most of all, I really don’t like getting bills...I just got over the $3000 price tag associated with my broken jaw of two years ago...and that’s after insurance did their part.

It is for this reason that I have been wearing the same eye glasses for the past 8 years. And why I’m pretty sure I will never be able to bend my right big toe correctly again. But I digress. I’m here and I’ve endured these disasters. And the doctor has come in to check out my eye.

After a quick examination including squirting orange dye into my eye and looking at it under a UV lamp (does this sound normal to you?), she concludes that she doesn’t know what it is, and decides to treat it as conjunctivitis. She’s gonna give me some eyedrops and tells me to call an eye specialist if it doesn’t get better. She doesn’t know? And she wants me to put something in my eye? And call someone else when it doesn’t get better? You see why I avoid this shit. Again, I digress.

I figure I’ve made it this far, let’s get my money’s worth. I mention that I have a bone sticking out funny on my shoulder though the pain associated with it went away a couple weeks ago. She looks at my shoulder and tells me to call a specialist. What can she help me with?

I’ve got nothing else going wrong with me, so I’m like, "how hard is it to get an STD test?" You know, you can never be too careful, and while Mr. Johnson appears to be doing ok, I’ve never had one before, so what can it hurt? She says, ’just need to take some blood and some urine’, and I’m like, ’let’s do it!’ Am I mocking the medical profession by just adding these things on?

Anyway, a few minutes later, a nurse comes in and has the blood taking stuff and a cup with her. She’s actually somewhat attractive, which makes me regret having asked for such a test to be done, but it’s too late now. She takes my blood, and shows me to the bathroom. After taking care of business, I hand her my freshly filled cup and then there’s this awkward moment where we’re both standing there.

In my head, I’m thinking how hilarious it would be if I tried to ask this girl out. I think it would go something like this:

Me: Yeah, I know you’re holding a cup of my pee and you just took blood to make sure that I don’t have gonorhea or syphillis, and I presently look like I want a Baby Ruth from Chunk (told you I’d get a second Goonies reference in), but would you like to go out sometime?

Her: How about I let you know in a day or two after these results come back?

And perhaps this thought in my head lead to the awkward exchange as I had a goofy smirk on my face as I grabbed my box of OJ (she gave me some) and headed out.

And then today, I went to my friend, who is an eye doctor, and he said everything she told me about the eye was wrong and he told me that I’m just having an allergy issue that went a little haywire in one eye.

See...now you know why I avoid doctors offices. Nothing good comes from them except these retarded stories...and this shnazzy new t-shirt with "Disease Free" and an arrow pointing down on it that I got.

Bowling Prowess...the Backlash

So, as you've all had the opportunity to read, I was feeling really good about my "skillz" after throwing up a 5 strike and 210 game performance. So good, that I went the extra mile and picked up some shnazzy new bowling shoes (Matt got some too) for using at my bowling league.

My bowling league is down in Falls Church (yeah, I don't know why either) and competes every Thursday night. It's more or less the same bunch of us that bowl on Mondays, so everyone was eager to see how I would follow up my 210 game performance. Oh, and here's how I did it.

I bowled a 122. Yes, a 122. It's not terrible, but what I have left out of this portion of the blog is the fact that in this league you are competing against the person bowling in the same order as you. I'm feeling pretty good during warm-ups as I see he has a 54 handicap compared to my 75, so I've already got a 21 pin lead on him. And who is this "he" you might be asking...he's a red-headed stone-faced killer named Toby...but after the first game, I gave him his real name...Drago.

You see Drago throws the ball with some spin, much like the pros. And what Drago also does is kill Apollo in Rocky IV. And playing the role of Apollo was none other than your favorite, overconfident jewish bowler here. It wasn't looking all that brutal in the early going, I'm dancing around, "Coming to America" is playing and I'm still sitting about 10 pins above him in the fifth, thanks to our handicaps...and then the Russian manager in the corner gives him the signal and the pummelling begins. The remainder of the game only required him to throw the ball 7 times (yeah, you do the math) and he's just laid down a 244 on me. With his handicap, that's 298. Yeah, and I just bowled a 197.

So I regroup. I drive around in my expensive car, jamming out to "No Easy Way Out" and ponder about the good times I had bowling, when I threw 5 strikes in a row and scored 210. But that all came crashing down at the hands of Drago. It's time for some payback.

After a couple quick training montage videos, I'm back and ready to show this a-hole what bowling is all about.

Out I come with a spare, and another, and another. A literal barrage of punches. Unfortunately, old Drago is still throwing those god damned strikes...four more to be precise. And then it happens. 4th frame...I bowl a strike. And he bowls a 9. Yes, a 9. HE'S NOT A MACHINE. HE'S A MAN.

Sadly, this is where the whole Rocky reference ends, as does all of my fun. He proceeds to throw a spare, followed by several more strikes. I continue to hold my own, ending at 187. With my handicap, that actually gave me the third best finish of anyone playing on our lane. Unfornunately the second best was none other than Drago, once again eclipsing 200 and pummeling me with a 241 game.

Our team as a whole suffered much the same fate, as we ended the game, losing 1-14, and have now dropped to dead last in the league with an 0-3 start and only 14 points scored TOTAL.
This is why the sequels are never quite as good as the original.

Oh, and did I fail to mention that during all of this I'm wearing a bright orange shirt with the word "stupid" and an arrow pointing up on it...courtesy of being the lowest (2nd lowest really, but the lowest, Shayna, was not there this week) scorer including handicap on our team the previous week. And yes, our team name and all our other shirts say "I'm With Stupid."

Bowling Prowess

Well, as some of you may already know, I've been going to Strike Bethesda every Monday with a group of friends for the past several months every Monday to enjoy all-you-can-bowl night. For those that aren't aware, Strike Bethesda offers unlimited bowling for $18 from 8 PM until closing on Monday nights, and also have $.75 sliders and $.25 wings to really pull you in.

Needless to say, they had me at all-you-can-bowl and a group of anywhere from 8-13 of us head there every week. We've been there so much that now we're considered VIPs (yes, I know...it's sad) and they will give us at least two lanes regardless of how many people we have or how crowded the place is. Trust me, sometimes that's a good thing.

Anyway, while the weeks and weeks of bowling would usually mean someone should be good by now, I really haven't been displaying it all that much. I'll still throw a few silly games here and there (i.e. 170-180), I'm still no Ernie McCracken. That is, until this past Monday.

There were only 6 of us bowl this fateful night and things are looking gloomy as usually early on. I'm bowling my typically 120-130 range, I've got a stupid zit forming on my forehead from having worn my hat a couple days last week, and I've already killed 2 sliders and about 6 buffalo wings. Dismal, if nothing else. And then it happens. I have a 50 through 5 frames, and I've got a $5 side bet (apparently I have a gambling problem...at least that's what I read somewhere) with Edwin, who's got close to 80. And then the stikes begin. One. Then Two. Then a Third. At this point, I am forced to dance the running man on the alley...it's a group rule...though I likely would have done it anyway. Then comes the fourth. I had no dance lined up for this and really everyone didn't know what to do, as this doesn't usually happen. And then came the fifth. At this point, I felt it only appropriate to raise both hands in the air and yell, "I am the greatest bowler EVER." Perhaps a bit of an overstatement, but let's see you drop five strikes in a row. I botched the next throw but spared the final toss to give me a final score of 187. A record high for me since my all time top score of 194 from a couple years ago.

But tonight is where I turn the corner. I proceed to throw a 99 in the next game. YIKES. And then it is go time. The game starts of and the spares are flowing. Four of them in a row to be precise. Then two strikes. I've already busted 100 and it's the 6th frame. I've bet Edwin again (yes, I've heard) and now he's shitting his pants. But I'm not done. A quick spare and then I'm back on course with two straight strikes. The second one was a wobbly 10th pin that got knocked down as the grabber thing came down, but we'll take it. It's gonna be that type of game. I'm entering the 10th and 200 is eerily in sight.

I chuck the ball down the lane...it's looking like another strike...but, oh no. There's one pin remaining. My score is sitting at 199. It's an all-time high for me. I've marked on every frame thus far, and I'm sitting just this one pin away from the immortal 200. Don't patronize me, I have little to get excited about, and this is the best I have going right now...you're just jealous you weren't there.

The pressure is on. I throw my shot at it, and the streak continues. My tenth straight mark, and I'm sitting in the den of gods at 201. But I'm not done. One more throw. I chuck it down. The pressure is off. The 200 was reach. And I added another 9 on top for a total of 210. An all-time high for me and everyone within shouting distance. And $5 well earned. Perhaps bowling every Monday is actually doing more than making me more of a redneck. Then again, I am wearing a shirt right now that says "stupid" on it and has a finger pointing up at my face. Now that's a whole different story.

Haunted House

As I write this blog, I am slightly spooked out and slightly intrigued, but what I am not slightly is not slightly sure that I don't have a ghost living in my house. You see for Christmas, I received an alarm clock/temperature reading egg type thing that my grandmother got from Sharper Image or one of those types of places. This device allows you to fluctuate from the time, to the temperature to the date and to an alarm, all by lightly touching the top of its egg shaped surface.

When I first got this device, I placed it in my living room, as I had no clock there and that was really the only place I could have used it. So it has sat there for over a month, doing basically nothing...that is until two days ago. I'm not sure why, but this thing changes functions whenever I walk by now. I don't even get within 20 feet of it, and I hear the beep and see the light shine on. I know it doesn't do it at other times, as I could hear the beep up here in my study if it was doing it. Is it my feet shaking the ground as I walk by...tried walking all around it and even stomping and it doesn't get it to go on...not even randomly.

What does get it to go on...sitting down on the couch and asking it questions. No, I'm not shitting you, though I have almost shit my pants several times. From it's ability to answer "yes-no" questions by answering "yes" by making the egg clock change functions, it is a ghost, it is friendly, and though it does not know me, it knows my ex-girlfriend Amy. She was big into this kind of shit, so when it didn't answer "yes" to knowing me, I figured why not check. I have had an odd feeling in the house ever since her grandmother passed away while we were still dating, and though it has not answered "yes" to the question of whether it is her, I have my reservations as to whether it is lying to me. Why??

Because tonight, I had a girl come over and spend the majority of the evening here at the house with me and I have never heard the thing beep so often...as if it were unhappy with the woman's presence. Maybe I should have asked the ghost if it knew Jaclyn as well, as it never chimed off for the few days Jaclyn was here and we were still "dating" before the breakup. In either case, I hope to get to the bottom of this, even if it means simply removing the batteries from the clock and putting my skeptic voice up front. In the meantime though, I really hope that this ghost doesn't start fucking with my game, as I could really use some new female companionship and this new girl is quite great.

Why am I not in the entertainment industry?

OK, first I came up with the idea of having Joey from Friends have a spinoff show where he went to California (my version would have been better) and then I said that Transformers and GI Joe needed to have full length movies made for the people of my generation to attend (GI Joe is coming in '09). And then, back in 2005, I proclaimed that this generation's music was characterized by "remixes" and that to culminate this trend, a Michael Jackson remix album needed to be made. And sure enough, here we are, with the Thriller 25 album a week away from being released and, what do you know, 5 remixed versions of the songs. Having heard them already, again, I think my version would have been better.

So if you want to know what's gonna be cool in the next couple years, just keep reading my blog apparently. Hell, I predicted the strong return of the mohawk.

Don't See "Cloverfield"

This is a warning to all of my friends to avoid seeing the new movie "Cloverfield." Since most of you live in a cave, I imagine you might not even know that there is in fact a movie called Cloverfield or that it released today.

My older brother called me yesterday and wanted me to go with him to see it since his wife didn't want to. You see, this movie is basically a modern day United States version of Godzilla, where some strange giant monster destroys New York City. The difference in this movie is that it is shown entirely from a first person camcorder-esque perspective, a la Blair Witch (which I still have never seen).

Had I seen Blair Witch, perhaps I would have been prepared for what was about to happen. You see, while this seems like a good concept for a movie and really draws you in to the real life terror of living through a monster destroying your town (ironically after a surprise party for one of the main characters who is moving to Japan), the camera work is...how should I put this...nauseating.

No, literally. There is not a still moment in the entire movie with the camera often jerking around in all sorts of directions and even swaying when the "cameraman" is trying to be still. The result is that about 15 minutes into the movie, I'm starting to feel dizzy and queezy. A few more minutes in and I'm forcing myself to look away from the screen for fear that I'm gonna yack all of the floor. Seriously, I probably didn't watch about 20 minutes worth of movie...and this treasure went on for about 1-1/2 hours. I leaned over to my bro and told him I might just up and leave, and he actually did for about 5 minutes, but somehow we made it through.

By the end of the movie, I feel physically ill, I had trouble driving home due to the motion sickness making the world seem blurry and uneasy even when I left the theater, and now I'm wondering if I should have just paid the $9.50 for some bad fish and dealt with the same feeling without giving up 1.5 hours of my day to get to this point. Save yourself from this anguish...avoid this movie. I wouldn't even recommend it on DVD. You've been warned.

Definitely Not Snow Tires

So as most of you know, since most of you guys live here, it is snowing today. It's been doing so since like 11:30 AM and being the hard working pool man that I am, that meant I was leaving work at 12:15 PM. Thankfully I only live 5 minutes from work...but thanks to this wonderful snow, which had started to stick around this time, it took me 25 adventure-filled minutes.

Everything was cool for most of the trip, as I'm crusing along Old Georgetown Road, which is a major road that other cars have been passing over. I turn down Tuckerman, which is slightly down hill from this direction and approach my turn. Here's where I come to realize why performance tires suck. I'm going maybe 15 mph and I press on the brakes to slow down enough to make the turn...and then I start to skid. The "SLIP" light come on on my dashboard, which I think it supposed to help the tires, but I'm not slowing down and my car is starting to spin to the right from the back. There's a car waiting to turn out of my neighborhood as well, so I make the quick decision and just take my foot off the brake and accelerate past my turn, assuming I catch the next one.

I make it down to the next turn, but I'm slightly nervous as this way includes a relatively steep uphill right at the start. I'm going about 5 mph, and looking in my rearview I see another car turn completely sideways on Tuckerman about 300 yards behind me, assumedly having tried to make the turn before mine.

I'm able to make the turn this time without any difficulty and then I begin my ascent up the hill. I make it about halfway up before I just stop dead. I attempt to turn right and left, but any attempt to accelerate actually starts sending me backwards and at all sorts of angles. I back up a view feet, hoping to get a better grip, but encounter the same thing. I even try backing up into the gutter, since there is no snow there, but the result is the same. Even the backing up was dicey.

And this is where the swearing begins. I'm about 1/4 mile from my house, and I'm in my neighborhood, so I technically could just bail on the car, but when would I be able to get it, and what are the odds it doesn't get smashed up by others in my same perdicament within the next couple hours. And now the windows are fogging up. FUCK!!! And here comes a Honda Accord driving by...no problem for them. FUCK!!! And a Lexus SUV. FUCK YOU!!!

Well, I've got to do something. I could back up right onto Tuckerman, but that's a busy street, my windows are fogged, and I'm not even sure if I can start from a stopped position on that slight hill. I've got to turn around here on the side street, and if I get stuck...I'm gonna be really fucked, but at least not immediately killed.

Using the downhill force, I'm able to back around into a turn, and pull a three point turnabout to put me facing Tuckerman. This might just work. I get to the edge of Tuckerman and thankfully no one is coming so I don't have to stop as I glide onto the street. It's much more clear than my side street and my car's got decent footing as I head up towards the first turn that I missed before. I make the light in between and slowly approach my left turn, which would require me to get into a turn lane...which of course has a layer of snow on it. And of course, there's a bunch of cars coming so I have to stop. And now I'm stuck again. FUCK!!!! I try the back up and try again technique to no success, so now I decide to use the downhill momentum once again to get back into the left lane to attempt a turn from there.

Luckily, no cars are coming as I back onto the main street, begin moving forward and approach my turn again. But there's still a line of cars coming. And now a car is coming up behind me. And I really don't think stopping is an option. FUCK!!! So I bang the right and head away from my house, but at least this road is flat, and oddly clear of snow.

I whip out my second three point turn of the adventure and now I'm approaching my street head on. Thankfully, by the time I reach Tuckerman, no one is coming and I glide across the whole street and am in my neighborhood once again.

By this point, the streets are completely covered in this wet snow and each turn I make is couple with that stupid "SLIP" light coming on. They might as well not have it or just change it to say "YOU'RE FUCKED" because it really doesn't do shit. So I finally make it to my street, the "YOU'RE FUCKED" light is on constantly as I careen up the way, and I already know there's no way I'm gonna be able to make the sharp left into my driveway, so I drive around the circle to give myself a better angle at my driveway and cruise in relatively straight and into my garage.

Why did I ever sell my Toyota??

The Sadder Side of the J-Man

Well, it's been a couple weeks since I last posted, and quite a bit has happened, including my attempts to work things out with my ex-girlfriend, which ultimately ended in an unpleasant New Years Day, and an eventual decision that we are no longer getting along and that we certainly wouldn't be able to last through another 2 years of long distance relationship. At least it was a breakup on good terms, and we had said that we would keep in touch and be friendly...if that is really possible.

You all know me. I laugh, I joke, and I try to fill my life with silly adventures like the one in my last post. But the truth is, no matter how much I keep my feelings to myself and shrug off these bumpy roads life has left for me, I'm still human and not having someone with you that you've had for over a year is tough. I keep going down this same road again, and with it, you always get crappy days like today...well, I guess it was yesterday since it's 1 AM and I can't sleep.

You see, while the internet has always been helpful to me, giving me this blog as a place to vent what I would usually keep to myself, giving me fantasy sports, and of course giving me porn, the internet has also given me, and everyone, a much easier way to keep track of all your friends. And that's where today's downfall begins. On the glorious website known as Facebook. Much like myspace, which I've blogged about before, Facebook allows you to see what past high school friends are up to, reconnect with lost college fraternity brothers, and unfortunately see when your ex-girlfriend of 10 days decides to put up an update that she's going to a "Dirty Doctors and Naughty Nurses" party.

And you don't even have to look on their page to find this information out, thanks to the "home" page which gives you recently changed info from your "friends" regardless of whether you wanted to know. And trust me, I didn't want to know. And I wonder if Jaclyn knew this when she posted it? Because she didn't use to change this feature very often. And I also wonder if the same was true when 5 pictures from this splendid gathering were posted this morning, and of these five, one includes a guy hugging her and playfully kissing her on the cheek?

Now perhaps I'm the crazy ex-boyfriend, and I'm over-reacting to an innocent picture of fun partying, and technically it's not my place to have any opinion what she does or doesn't do now, but why post this picture? And why do it 10 days after a one year relationship has ended? For all my readers who have had a relationship end in the past, I'm sure you, like me, don't want to know...and certainly don't want to see...if your ex is with some guy right after you breakup...especially when you supposedly ended on good terms. I know if I had a picture like this, I certainly wouldn't post it. I have tons of pictures on my computer from events that I don't post on Facebook. But I disgress.

So while today should have been an upbeat day watching the beloved Cowboys get their asses kicked, all I have been able to do is ask myself these questions over and over again, while that picture sits in my memories. I removed Jaclyn as one of my friends on facebook, because I just can't have these kinds of surprises popping up again. I wrote her an email to let her know why, but I haven't heard back from her. I doubt I will, and I now doubt a lot of things.

Like I said before, it's a path I've been down before, and I've made it through in the past. Ironically, I've got a large scratch from football in the middle chest that looks like I had open heart surgery. Time will heal both of these wounds, but for now, they both sting and make it hard to sleep.

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.