Saturday, December 5, 2009

"Volume XV"

Welcome to another issue of the blog. This one has a very creative, well thought out title. I hope you enjoy...

Our first important life observation brings us to the world of the Men’s Restroom and the conundrums that they create. First off, it would be nice if every bar just simply put Men or Women on the door because I’m sick and tired of trying to decipher which animal picture on the outside most closely resembles a man during a time of intoxication. It is never something easy like a picture of a lumberjack and a belly dancer. Instead I have to determine whether the dancing cheetah is wearing a mini skirt or if it is a zebra in gym shorts and cowboy hat before I stumble in after having a few too many. I’ve wandered into several female restrooms in my day by accident, and I have to be honest; my fines on are starting to get expensive. “But the turtle had on a top hat, I swear!” does not work as you take a slap to the face by a startled co-ed…

I’m also still awaiting word on what the deal is with the midget urinal. I get the idea of needing at least one for any kid, vertically challenged alien, or any short urinator who simply refuses to defy the laws of urination gravity and pee upwards, but why not just make them all that height? No tall guy is complaining because his urine has farther to travel before it hits its demise are they? “Wait a second…is this urinal regulation or what,” is something I’ve never heard as some behemoth is doing his business.

I've learned girls are like buses, there is another one every fifteen minutes…unless of course you live in San Francisco which means you have no clue when the next one is coming, and then the same one will come back to back to back after you've already gotten serviced ... (I think I'm still talking about buses)

My Mom is always talking about people “being on drugs.” “Did you see that bank robbery the other day,” she’ll explain, “that guy was probably on drugs.” What does this mean exactly? “Some guy exposed himself in the park the other day, he was probably on drugs.” On drugs, or a sick, twisted pervert? What constitutes being on drugs anyway? Is there some sort of equation like two hits of acid, four bong rips and nine pills of Ecstasy in a month span puts you “on drugs?” “That guy murdered nine people, chopped up their bodies and then hung them from his Christmas tree,” he was probably on drugs,” I could hear her saying, like its some reason for some person being a full blown lunatic murderer. And more importantly, how are these people “on drugs,” so motivated that they are able to put together an entire bank robbery scheme? The people I know “on drugs,” just sit around eating Cheetos and play Halo 3 all day…

My roommate constantly plays with himself even when its just him and I sitting having a conversation. Is there any reason why I shouldn’t be freaked that he is touching himself while going over stock portfolio tips with me? I feel I should be more upset about this than I am or maybe I’ve reluctantly accepted the fact that seventy-five percent of the furniture, Playstation controllers and Tupperware have been touched by the same hand that was also down his pants.

The same friend also recently started seeing a girl named Joey. This is all fine and dandy, but our good guy friend is also named Joey and I still haven’t gotten used to “So I was sodomizing Joey the other night…” Woa…what?! Oh…

I'm still trying to figure out the purpose for a “sitting room” in a house. It seems like everyone has gotten on this kick that you need a room, usually the entry room, deemed specifically for the purpose of sitting. Do we really need a specific room for a stationary activity that all of us accomplish with no effort anyway? You won’t find anything of reasonable entertainment value in this room (Tv, fridge with cold beers, Chutes & Ladders, stripper pole, etc.), just couches and a table. "Thank God for that sitting room, if it wasn't for that we would have been forced to sit in the living room all day and watch Tv. Instead we just, well, we sat."

Thanks for reading... Cheers,

Steve (the guy who writes these miserable write ups)


Tuesday, December 1, 2009

"Volume XV2"

I wrote this blog and then completely hated it so instead of making this an official Volume, consider this the blog appetizer for the real Volume XV, which in reality is really no better than this brief snippet.

And now to this week's write up...

For the last two years I’ve been operating on only one car alarm clicker after my other one found its way out of my suitcase on a flight. I also needed some other items so I headed into the Toyota Dealership for a purchase. The convo went something like this :

Me : Yeah I need a clicker
Auto Parts Guy : ok let me bring that up, (typing, slow hunt & peck method) looks like … ooh (grimace), $150, well, ooh (more typing, grimace) ooh, let me try this, (more typing), ooh yeah, $150. (grimace)

Me : So… $150?
Auto Parts : Yeah $150, but then you need to have it programmed.
Me : Ok…
Auto Parts Guy :
Me : Ok…?
--- Awkward Silence, both of us just kind of stare ----
Me : Programming? (looking around for some sort of help, kind of like a Virgin at an Orgy)
Auto Parts : Oh we don’t do that here
Me : Really, not here huh? Should I just…uh…take a six week course on Transportation Engineering, I uh…(are you kidding?)
Auto Parts Guy : Oh, no I mean (more typing, more grimaces), we do it here, just not in parts, the guys in service can do it.
Me : And the charge will be ?
Auto Parts Guy : (more typing, grimace) Looks like about $150 for labor
Me : Jesus, well ok then. I also need a replacement taillight, some drunk guy smashed it in
Auto Parts Guy : (more typing) Let me see… Ouch, (grimace) Looks like $150
Me : $150? Is there anything in your system not $150? How much for a new engine?
Auto Parts Guy : (more typing) Lets see, carry the one, add six for pistons, well it looks like you’re looking at about…(typing) hmm, add that, subtract, ok got it…looks like…well about $150...

After making my way over to the service guy who witnessed this whole exchange he proceeded to look shockingly flustered when I informed him that I’d need my new clicker programmed. Finally he told me he could, but just not right that moment and that it would take him an hour because the service guy had gone home, but yet his shirt said Paul “Service Tech.”

I liked it a lot better in the heart of the recession when people actually wanted to work to make some money.

Til next time...