My brother has told me several times over the last few months that due to my lack of posting, my blog has basically become a dried up turd. I won't lie and say I disagree with him...summer drought, perhaps? In all honesty, I'm currently going through all those familiar emotions associated with moving: stress, stress, and stress.
I've been busy packing up my life and movin' boxes to the left, to the left like Beyonce 'cept I aint kickin' no cheatin' man to the curb.
It's universally said that moving is one of the most difficult tasks that we face throughout a lifetime.
This experience cultivates many feelings, ranging from anxiety to physical pain.
The process is also an exciting one - it's an opportunity to start a new chapter.
I've been lucky enough to call two of Maryland's most iconic cities my home; while it's bittersweet to say goodbye to what's familiar, I'll carry the good times and laughs with me as I move forward.
So, it's been a hot minute since I last posted; I had to blow on my computer like a classic Nintendo cartridge because I wasn't sure if it still worked.
Today I'm feeling good - coming off of a 3 day migraine marathon. It's probably my own stubbornness, but I continued to pop Advil 'VH1 Behind The Music' style without any relief until I broke down and bought Excedrin Migraine. I'm sure anyone who's had this type of headache can agree that they're disabling; I drove home from work the other night with one hand on the wheel and the other with a firm grip on my head, hoping the pressure would stabilize the pain. I'm sure it looked odd, but definitely more dignified than having my finger up my nose.
Recently, I was inspired by a friend who received unrelenting texts from a guy she met at the bar. I do think the term 'creepy' is tossed around too casually; no man wants to be labeled as a stalker but sometimes, a CCT (Creeper Champion Trophy) is deserved. I think some of these guys misunderstood the phrase 'don't take no for an answer!' In the dating world, 'no' actually means 'no chance in Hell'. Guys - when a woman says she just wants to be friends, don't misinterpret that as 'I want to have sex with you!'
What's even worse is when someone tries to impress you with their 'assets' - this is a common Annapolis strategy. I don't mind friendly conversation at the bar, but frankly, I don't care that you live on a 'boat 'and want to take me for a ride on it - you act like you live on a floating Taj Mahal. All I really got from that statement was that you're homeless, so I think I'll take a rain check on the Roofie Coolata cruise.
Eight years ago, Justin Timberlake released a song about karma and I've got a story that really proves that 'ole JT was right on the $$$ about what goes around really comes back all the way around.
Just the other night, as I was digging into some savory Chinese takeout, I began to reminisce. When I was in college, there was this guy that made me feel nauseous at the near sight of him. He wasn't unattractive by any means; in fact, many women considered him the 'campus hottie'. In my eyes, he was just a regulation D-Bag with a piss-poor attitude. I don't care how great you look; it's like that saying goes 'you can polish a turd, but it's still a piece of shit'. My friend had a class with him and he constantly demanded to copy her notes, only after sleeping through class after class. Upon her rejection, he said 'you obviously don't know the way things are done around here'.
It was a typical Friday evening at the bar and I see him roll up with a bag of Chinese takeout, but before he comes in, he places the bag on the roof - I guess he figured this was an inconspicuous place to store his drunk food. I guess he didn't consider the possibility that anyone would be curious about a random brown paper bag chillin' on a low roof. When I say low, I mean that Wee Man from 'Jackass' could reach it if he jumped.
When I decided it was time to call it a night, I ventured outside into the parking lot and eyed the bag. I walked over and grabbed it without even thinking twice. I couldn't wait to get home and explore the contents, which included spicy General Tso's chicken, rice, Wonton soup, and an added treasure: 1 eggroll. I'm about halfway through my meal when I realize my phone has gone MIA. I should've known that I wouldn't escape this risky operation unscathed. I had no idea where it was, but began to retrace my steps.
I trekked down the hill, across the football field and back onto campus. Along the way, I come across a few duck sauce packets and laughed to myself, thinking this is what I get for trying to teach that asshole a lesson. I stood in the dorm parking lot across from the bar, deciding I should accept my loss when I looked down and noticed my phone sitting on the curb.
Word on the street is that he incessantly searched for the culprit over the next few weeks; I don't think he found out it was me, but maybe one day, he'll come across this blog. I guess he didn't know the way things were done around here.
When I started this common hobby of blogging, I knew the possibility of a 'dry spell' was possible. It can be a let down when you go to check your favorite blog, only to find the latest post was two weeks ago - say whaaa? However, it isn't writer's block. I'll admit that once I kick off my work shoes, the last thing I want to look at is a blinding computer screen. Additionally, life unexpectedly gets in the way but I promise I'll do my best to keep you all laughing and hopefully coming back for more nonsense.
So, last weekend after the restaurant gig, we moseyed on over to a frequented bar that I don't frequent often 'cause it's loud and the crowd is something less than desirable. I have a good idea of what I'm getting into when I walk across the parking lot and Zack Galifianakis' clone busts out of the door, pulling his fat girlfriend behind him while slurring at me "you're gonna get lucky tonight - there's a lot of dick in there!'' Thanks, Zack.
A couple of shots later, I've forgotten the sense of loss I felt when I paid $7.00 to gain access to this sausage fiesta. What kind of cover charge is that anyway - is Nickelback in there? The drinks have been flowin' and I'm feeling a case of 'Barcolepsy' coming on - it's been a long day and all I want to do is get some decent shuteye.
Soon enough, the group begins to coordinate the location of a late night meal. Survey says: Double T Diner. Food? What? OK, I'm awake (sort of). I haven't been to this place in 10 years, so I wasn't opposed to an intoxicated trip down memory lane. Late night diners are always a show; sub-par food and top notch entertainment. Of course, it's 2 am and you're drunk so anything you eat IS a five star meal - nothing less.
The waitress sashays over and flops down an Atlas in front of everyone, at least that's what I thought it was until I realized it was a MENU. If I wanted to read an encyclopedia, I would've gone to the library. My brain is not wired for sound decisions at this hour; I really just wanted to tell Olga or whatever her name was to pick something and surprise me, but instead, I pulled a copycat move and said 'I'll have what she's having' while motioning to the friend sitting next to me.
And what's with the disclaimer sized print? I'll be sure to bring one of these next time.
With all of the snow behind us, (hopefully) I got to thinking about another major threat to all of mankind (especially women): TOOLS. I'm not talking about the kind you buy at Sears, either.
Ladies, we've all had the 'pleasure' of knowing
at least one; actually, consider yourself lucky if you don't have to
count any higher. Chances are, you've
probably dated Mr. Craftsman - it's typically a brief, forgettable relationship
because let's face it, your bathroom sink had more personality. We tend to hang out with these types of men
boys when we are bored and need a distraction; they don't need one because they
are already too fixated on themselves – usually in front of the mirror with a
phone.
Soon enough, the unfortunate experience with this individual ends once the Red Flag Express runs you over with no warning (toot, toot!) Despite the time you feel was wasted, you're 200% relieved that you don't have to float upstream in a douche canoe anymore. Great success!
So, without further ado, I'm going to get down to the NITTY gritty here. Just when you think you've made the great escape from this loser, he pops up in your phone out of nowhere like a zit during puberty. You hear the 'bling' of your text tone, look down and see a message from Tim the Toolman chillin' on deck. You hesitantly slide your finger across the screen to not reveal a generic message, but an unsolicited PICTURE of his body part(s).
Just this past weekend, I was hanging out with a friend of mine when she showed me a text she had just received (as seen below) with the following caption: 'what do you think of that?'
What do I think? Personally, I'd rather lick the bottom of a trash can. Is this supposed be enticing? In this case, the only thing that was turned on was the light bulb in our heads reminding us even more of what an arrogant asshole you are. Stop thinking that women want to see your NON-REQUESTED muscles; if I feel like looking at some, I'll turn on 'The Notebook'.
Sup, Ryan?
If Friday was Valentine's Day, then Saturday must have been 'take your side chick to dinner' day; the freaks were out in full force, in addition to my patience.
This isn't just another weekend serving; this is a borderline suicide mission. I felt as if I need some extra preparation before hitting the floor - maybe a few deep breaths, some jumping jacks/high knees...a stun gun, perhaps?
I always tend to scope out the guests before I walk over to greet the table; based off of one look, I can get a good feel for what I'm about to deal with. Call it a sixth sense, if you will, but usually I wish I could see dead people instead. I had just shown up for my 4:30 shift, and I'm pretty sure Third Eye Blind was coming out of the restaurant's speakers, softly asking me 'how's it gonna be?' Trust me, I already know. I mosey on over to the table with my forced, enthusiastic smile and place the drink coasters down, although all I really feel like doing is throwing them to each person like a Frisbee.
So, with my winning discus routine comes my greeting: 'how's everyone doing this evening?' I don't get a 'hi', 'goodbye', or 'kiss my ass' but just 'what does the kettle chip appetizer taste like?' Mmm, Ketel One. I could go for a martini right about now. To give you a visual, the man who asked me about the chips is standing up, leaning against the table like he's Billy Ocean. I'm like 'honestly, Billy...I haven't tri-'
I'm in the midst of telling this low life that I haven't tried the shitty dish he's so kindly inquired about when he puts his Hulk sized hand up in an exasperated, 'stop, in the name of love' pose, and says 'SO, you mean to tell me that you work here and haven't TRIED everything?'
Clearly, he has learned a lot from his 3rd grade deductive reasoning lesson. What do you think this is? Do you honestly expect me to have dabbled with every food item on the menu? Like I'm that former fat ass Adam Richman, who toured the country eating 4lb pancakes and baby sized burritos.
Since I couldn't provide a personal kettle chip experience, Billy's 'date' proceeded to roll her eyes - so far back, I wondered if I'm going to need to call a priest for her exorcism.
C'mon Billy, take the demon, get out of my restaurant...and into your car.
Unless you've been living under a rock, you're aware that the Olympics in Sochi are well underway. The net is buzzed with chatter today regarding our victory over Russia in men's hockey. There is said to be a rivalry between USA and the Russkies, and I'm pretty sure it originates from the following:
Sorry, Apollo...not even those flashy shorts could've saved you - the guy's a machine. I think it's safe to say that everyone is having a Springsteen moment today, 'cause we were boooorn in the USA! I could be completely wrong, but I feel America's love for hockey has increased exponentially over the last 20 years or so - thanks to Gordon Bombay and his amateur drunk driving.
I mean, look at this guy with his 'I'm cool, bitch!' expression. One hand on the wheel of his asshole sports car with a bottle to the face; this is Gordon Bombay, Attorney at Law. Caught under the influence, Gordon rises above the haters by leading a group of dumpster diving kids to a pee-wee hockey championship title.
Don't deny it, you wanted to be one of the Ducks (except Goldberg)...myself included. I think a lot of kids could identify with the characters; the idea of you and your rag tag friends coming together to be CHAMPIONS suddenly became a semi-realistic goal. Also, let's not forget the fact that 'The Mighty Ducks' is the only movie with Joshua Jackson that's worth seeing (we'll give him D2 too).
One of the ongoing conflicts throughout this movie focuses on Gordon's internal struggle with his past; he is haunted by the memory of missing a penalty shot in a pee-wee hockey game - 20 years prior! In the real world, this is normally something that takes maybe a week to forget, but it's Disney so you have to roll with it. What I couldn't get over was how after all those years, his former hockey coach seems to have been cryogenically frozen.
Did anyone else notice that? How is this guy still alive?? What's fun about watching these movies as an adult is that you finally get those jokes that went 'whoosh!' over your head. Think back to the scene when the gang is in chemistry class and the teacher, while holding up a 3D model of an atom asks 'and what about the blue balls?'
The entire class giggles...
Yup.
