My Support System

To be successful in life one has to surround him/herself with great support. I cannot help but write about the support that has always been there for me and picked me up during the best and worst of times. There are the parents and the friends and all that as supporters but nothing more literal than my belt. I have had the same belt since 1998. Who knew as a little squirly 7th grader the Eddie Bauer belt I bought from the Cabazon Outlets would be supporting my ass twelve years later! Friends, professors, and pants have come and gone but one belt has remained. My belt is a true unsung hero as it hidden from plain sight and asks nothing in return but to do the honors of holding my pants up. Just think of all the exotic places my belt has been, Hawaii, Israel, Ireland, Barstow…and in each place my belt has worked just as hard. The country should look at my Eddie Bauer belt as an example of the perfect American. Selfless, strong, confident, and bends but never breaks. In fact, my belt should run for Governor of California. It would run on a platform consisting of adding more loops to plumber’s pants and limiting the number of elastic clothing. True, California may still be trillions in debt and jobless but we would have the sturdiest pants in America…at least that's more than you can say about Kentucky.

Left In The Dust

My worst fears have finally been realized. I often wake up with a petrified look on my face sweating from the hellish nightmare I just experienced. In my mind it is always lurking like a stalker in the night. Everywhere I turn my nightmare follows. The worst thing is even when I wake up my nightmare still exists. One might think I’m afraid of terrorist attacks, sharks, or earthquakes but none of these even holds a candle to my deepest fear…dust! It’s been 4 months since I’ve moved in to my own place and the epic battle between myself and dust has never gotten more heated. Living on your own is tough, it’s the first time I’ve been introduced to dust, and let me tell you I can see some serious problems formulating between those particles and myself. It’s EVERYWHERE. It’s on my TV, my desk, my table and it never stops! Up until now, I’ve lived a glorious dust-free life with OCD parents and a lady who cleaned once-a-week, so I thought about dust as much as I thought about Ancient Greek farming techniques. Now, it’s all I can think about. During my pre-dust life, I used to have so much more free time to think about really philosophical things like, “how do they pack all that cheese in a tiny CHEESE-IT?” Now all of my intelligence is being consumed due to dust! One might say the easy solution is to get some sort of device and clean it. That’s a great idea and all except for the fact that I don’t have a clue how to keep up a household. I just learned how to work my oven. It turns out the bottom part of the oven is NOT a storage space like originally thought but the burner. If dust cleaning were considered to be at the pinnacle of advanced cleaning techniques, I have a long way to go. I’m merely on the step of how to operate the dishwasher. However, dust doesn’t wait for me to catch up and just keeps pilling on. It’s just so time consuming. Do you have any idea how much Sportcenter I would miss if I actually cleaned my dust properly? It’s just too bad that dust is considered socially unacceptable because then we could coexist. However, someone has to win in this epic battle and so far I’ve been left in the dust.

Send it in an E-mail

I’m revolting against the non-stop talkers. It’s all day with these people telling their long boring stories and I’ve had enough. America doesn’t just have an over-eating problem, it has an over-talking problem and the verbally obese are chewing the rest of the nation’s ear off. It’s often hard to spot an over-talker at first, but as soon as his/her lips move an escape plan must immediately ensue. Their stories just go in aimless circles with no end in sight. Don’t the verbally obese realize there is another person at the end of the conversation? Heaven forbid they even ask one question so the other person can feel part of the conversation. I’ve always been curious on how these talkers experienced so many stories when all their doing is yapping. I feel I’ve been gyped for I make it a point to keep my stories short and to the point. Just like recycling cans, I’ve done my part in keeping good conversation. In contrast, these talkers are verbally polluting this world leaving everyone else to suffer. As part of my New Year’s resolution to contribute more to society, I feel compelled to share the intricacies of how to spot an over-talker. Although subtle, try to avoid any of the following scenarios at all costs or else you’ll be just another victim. First, if you see a person in a crowd and their lips never stop moving, you’ve found the target, get out of there! Second, you see a flock of people flee shortly after meeting the target. Finally, if it’s any person over the age of 80. I realize if it’s a grandparent you have no choice but to listen, however if it’s not a relative, walk away or else you’ll be hearing yet another story about World War II or how much an apple cost during the Depression. To combat this epidemic effective January 2010, I will be implementing a new policy in that any story going over 4 minutes must be sent to me in an email. So, next time someone wants to tell me a long boring story about how they thought they saw David Spade one time but wasn’t sure, kindly type it to me in an email. This way I can read over the crap and get to the point in the comfort of my own home listening to good tunes instead of yapper’s.

Facebook Frustrations

I’ve had it up to here (hand raised over head) with awful Facebook status updates! The social networking site is being saturated with ego-maniacs who absolutely MUST tell me every little thing about their life. I’m pretty sure Facebook was not created so we can all learn about how stuffed you are from Thanksgiving or how you’re allergic to mushrooms. There are some Facebookers that post things that are just so unreadable and uninspiring, I cringe the same way I did when I saw the movie Paul Blart: Mall Cop. As a veteran Facebook user (going on 5 years now) I have developed a trained eye for different Facebook behaviors and have grouped the Facebook abusers accordingly. First is Facebook bragger who has no idea how unimpressive his/her life is. For instance, they need to brag to me about their job promotion as assistant manager at Pinkberry, their amazing Weezer concert tickets, or about their new car, the Ford Taurs. What amazes me is how they had the time to do all of these things seeing how they just updated their status for the 15th time on a Wednesday afternoon. Then there is minute detail Facebook abuser. This one writes frequently about things I doubt their own mother would care about. What makes this person think I care about what type of bread was selected at Ralphs or what is in their refrigerator. How do I even respond to this? “Wow you went with the White Bread?!?” or “No Way! You have green olives in your fridge???” Finally, the crème de la crème of Facebookers and my personal favorite is the complainer. This kind has to talk about how hard their life is but doesn’t give specific details about what’s bothering them. For instance, “Bobby Sue is overwhelmed today …sigh” or “Elmo is tired…ahhh” or “Dave’s face is hurting because he just got punched for complaining too much” This kind of Facebook behavior is intolerable, unacceptable and must be stopped. To counteract these despicable people I too shall write an update one-upping all other annoying facebookers. My next status update will read, “Mark is just so excited because he starts being King of Ethiopia today. Furthermore, for lunch he will have an egg-salad sandwich on white bread with four BBQ chips and a pickle. What a busy day I’m so overwhelmed…uggggg.”

It's Vegas, Don't Tell Me To Calm Down!

I don’t know about you but I’m starting to get that Las Vegas fever. Just as timely as a menstrual cycle, my Vegasness comes exactly 3 months after my last visit. It’s a tough fever to break and the only prescription is two solid nights on the strip. It’s important to note that one night is not enough Vegas and three nights is just a bad idea. The extra night’s events will leave you wondering why you thought it was a good idea to go to a strip club because a midget dressed up as a leprechaun told you to do it. (Not like that happened to me or anything…) What I like most about the strip is there is so much to do; any one person can make it their own. I prefer the pool, drink, pass out, gamble, drink, pass out, club, drink, pass out approach. What I don’t get are the people who do the touristy Vegas. The one’s where they just kind of walk the strip aimlessly in their “whatever happens in Vegas stays in Vegas” t-shirts. These folk are easy to spot; just look for the giant 10-foot drinks hanging from their necks. The sure fire way to NOT get any ass in the land of ass is to walk around with these drinks. Slurping on a straw is one of the least attractive things a person could do in public, and these drinks magnify this action by 100 percent when the drink is attached to your neck. I’ve never met a lady who can’t get enough of a drunken dude sucking down on some purple drink all day. All I’m saying is that we need to class up Vegas a bit. I’m pretty sure the party gods did not bestow Vegas onto us in hopes that we would walk the “holy land” with purple stained teeth and Elvis glasses on our way to Circus Circus. That’s why I stay at the Flamingo.

Church of The Holy Touchdown

I’ve never really been considered a religious man through my years. I felt that the customs, traditions, and beliefs in all religions were quite ridiculous. I never understood why people like Priests, Rabbis, Monks, or Indian Chiefs would devout their whole life to just their religion until I finally saw the light. Prior to becoming a born-again, I had been walking aimlessly with no real purpose. Now I see all that life has to offer with such clarity. Flowers smell better, music sounds better, and hot girls are even hotter. I attribute all these new positive changes to my new-found religion…College Football. I have found my religious enlightenment in the form of watching touchdowns and bone chilling tackles. I didn’t realize my religion’s full potential until I made my required pilgrimage to “Mecca” or otherwise known as Ohio Stadium in Columbus, Ohio. It was more than a game but rather a religious experience that I shared with my fellow College-Footballians watching USC play Ohio State. In case you weren’t familiar with our religion, here are just some of the basics in the holy “Play" Book. I specifically follow the teachings of Pete Carroll as he is my Rabbi. Furthermore, like the Jewish faith, our Sabbath is on Saturday but instead of wine as the preferred drink like in the Catholic or Jewish faith, our drink is beer and a lot of it. At “services” it is frowned upon to be quiet. Finally, my religion ends every year. There are never any qualms about not going to “services” past January 7 as the season ends. The other religions guilt you in being there every week. With that being said, I would appreciate it if people would respect my honoring of the Sabbath and not require me to be anywhere else other than the Los Angeles Coliseum, I’m praying at the top of my lungs!

Shortchanged

There was the Pet Rock in the 80’s, the Pogs of the 90’s and Beanie Babies in the early 2000’s. All were trends that came and went in our society. And just like the ones before it, the current trend that needs to vanish immediately is a women’s short haircut. I’m a pretty easygoing guy when it comes to the ladies. However, I will not tolerate when a beautiful woman butchers her hair. Just because Rihanna or Halle Berry has short hair does not give permission for every other girl to do the same. The hairstyles are so bad that even models loose their attractiveness. Viewing such a travesty only leaves me wondering what could’ve been. One of the defining physical characteristics that makes or breaks a woman is her hair. Now all hope is lost when I see a woman whose hair stops at her ears thus looking like a boy. No guy wants his girlfriend’s hair as short as his. The worst is when you see a girl on a regular basis who has that refreshing attractiveness in which you can’t wait to see again and again BUT the next day BOOM… boy cut! I demand to know all those behind such hanus acts. Was there a secret hairstyle tribunal that voted in the short haircut? Also, why weren’t heterosexual males allowed to have a say on this matter? These are all questions where I will work tirelessly to have answered. My guess is Oprah has something to do with this…