This is what happens when you sleep till 4 p.m. You're up in the middle of the night doing God-knows-what. Looking for anything to do. Maybe watch that new episode of The Office - you love that show; or you could play with that new toy you got for Christmas - except you hate reading instructions at 2 in the morning. Oh, you could start writing something - nah, nothing good comes out at this time, anyways.
So then, what are you to do?
Well, the simple solution to the problem is this: go to bed. Only then you realize that this is what happens when you sleep till 4 p.m.
You stay up late, trying to get yourself tired. Then you say, tomorrow I'm going to wake up at 8 in the morning, exercise, stay up until the time that proper people actually go to bed so you can get up the next morning and be ready to go...yeah right, dude. Just face it, you're gonna hit snooze because there isn't really anything that you especially want to get up for. You can tell yourself that the world is an exciting place, which, yeah, it is, but you'd rather stay in the comfort of your own bed.
Your life has become an endless cycle of staying up late and sleeping in and the only thing that will be able to break you out of it is an act of God. You have become entirely nocturnal. Your parents think that you live in a state of hibernation because they haven't seen you in months. You're a child of the night and the only thing that can help you get out of this horrible state is fervent prayer. Just remember to fall on your knees and beg that you will be spared from your nightmarish present and be delivered unto a new life of peace and joy. Just keep hoping. Get calloused knees, then, only then, shall sleep meet your eyes.
But then again, probably not. You're screwed, dude.
Oh well, at least you have your health. But seriously, you have to stop smoking.
It kills.
Tuesday, December 26, 2006
Monday, December 4, 2006
On Why Dudes Should Look Like Dudes
I don’t know if any of you have ever had the experience of working as a waiter, but if you have, then you have probably experienced this scenario at least once in your illustrious career:
you walk up to a table with two women sitting opposite one another. One is a beautiful brunette wearing plastic rimmed glasses and looking like she is having the time of her life laughing hysterically at some witty quip from her smart girlfriend, the other, the aforementioned girlfriend is sitting with her back to you, has beautiful hair that is dirty blonde and falls to about shoulder length, and you can’t see her face, but judging by her friend, you assume she is pretty beautiful herself. So you walk up to the table, gathering whatever semblance of courage you may be able to gather, and you, as confidently as your weak heart can be, you say, “How’s it goin', ladies?” You throw down your coasters on the table, look at the brunette and smile. Then you look at the blonde and notice that her face is hairier than any woman her age should be. In face, now that you see this face attached to the beautiful hair that you had once been ogling, you realize that there is no way you could ever understand this humanoid to be anything but a representative of the male type. Now that you have successfully mistaken the sex of your restaraunt's patron you have six options:
1) Laugh it off confidently and say to the guy, "Nah, I'm just kidding. But seriously, I bet I could kick your ass, you long-haired wuss."
2) Apologize profusely and hope that the guy isn't secretly a ninja hired by corporate sent to eliminate the weaker servers, the list you "just-so-happen" to be on.
3) Look at the brunette that's with him and say, "Seriously, though. What's with the bearded lady? What's YOUR circus act? Freaks." Then walk away.
4) Swiftly kick both patrons, steal their wallets, run away, and pray that they have enough money for you to buy that ticket to Rio you've been wanting so bad.
5) Refuse them service for being out of the legal bounds of marriage in this part of the state. This may be hard if you find yourself in Massachusetts. If that's the case, refuse service on an ethnic ground and when they ask, "Haven't you ever heard of the Emcanipation Proclamation?" think for a second, and then reply: "Sorry, I don't listen to hip-hop."
6) Make it seem like you are the one who has just been egregiously offended. Start crying and then tell them that you think they should leave.
Any one of these options should prove itself to be an effective way of dealing with these asinine and largely-gender-confused people. You're pretty much sitting pretty regardless of what you choose to do. However, the point of this scenario (it is a hypothetical scenario. i may or may not have had this experience myself, and i may or may not have responded with option six. regardless of the truth of the matter. it remains hypothetical and largely theoretical) is to illustrate the desperate need for a call to greatness to the men of this great nation. So all that said, all apologies made, here goes:
If you're a dude. Start looking like it. Seriously. Nobody likes dealing with the awkwardness of mistaking gender. There is no way to recover from it. If you would just cut your damn hair and wear either loosefitting or oversized pants, you would save the service world a whole lot of heartache. Leave the girl pants to the girls. They look a lot better in them, and they look like they feel way more comfortable than any of you men with the tight-fitting crotch. Forget it. Maybe you'd feel less emo if you had pants that your legs and crotch actually had room in. You sing and whine about how you feel like you don't have a place in this world, but my theory is that it starts with your pants. How can you have room for people in your heart if you don't even have room in your pants for your body? Remember, you're a boy. Your girlfriend is a girl. If she wears a 4, you should not be wearing a 2. Wear the freaking 26 inch waist. In fact, Target is probably having a sale right now on pants, It is the holiday season after all, so hop on over there, throw down the $12.99, and buy yourself a pair of baggy jeans. Do it. I dare you.
There. I said it. Go forth into all the world and proclaim the good news.
Emo rules. Just stop singing about the heartache and do something about the clothes. It hurts me to look at you.
I'm serious.
you walk up to a table with two women sitting opposite one another. One is a beautiful brunette wearing plastic rimmed glasses and looking like she is having the time of her life laughing hysterically at some witty quip from her smart girlfriend, the other, the aforementioned girlfriend is sitting with her back to you, has beautiful hair that is dirty blonde and falls to about shoulder length, and you can’t see her face, but judging by her friend, you assume she is pretty beautiful herself. So you walk up to the table, gathering whatever semblance of courage you may be able to gather, and you, as confidently as your weak heart can be, you say, “How’s it goin', ladies?” You throw down your coasters on the table, look at the brunette and smile. Then you look at the blonde and notice that her face is hairier than any woman her age should be. In face, now that you see this face attached to the beautiful hair that you had once been ogling, you realize that there is no way you could ever understand this humanoid to be anything but a representative of the male type. Now that you have successfully mistaken the sex of your restaraunt's patron you have six options:
1) Laugh it off confidently and say to the guy, "Nah, I'm just kidding. But seriously, I bet I could kick your ass, you long-haired wuss."
2) Apologize profusely and hope that the guy isn't secretly a ninja hired by corporate sent to eliminate the weaker servers, the list you "just-so-happen" to be on.
3) Look at the brunette that's with him and say, "Seriously, though. What's with the bearded lady? What's YOUR circus act? Freaks." Then walk away.
4) Swiftly kick both patrons, steal their wallets, run away, and pray that they have enough money for you to buy that ticket to Rio you've been wanting so bad.
5) Refuse them service for being out of the legal bounds of marriage in this part of the state. This may be hard if you find yourself in Massachusetts. If that's the case, refuse service on an ethnic ground and when they ask, "Haven't you ever heard of the Emcanipation Proclamation?" think for a second, and then reply: "Sorry, I don't listen to hip-hop."
6) Make it seem like you are the one who has just been egregiously offended. Start crying and then tell them that you think they should leave.
Any one of these options should prove itself to be an effective way of dealing with these asinine and largely-gender-confused people. You're pretty much sitting pretty regardless of what you choose to do. However, the point of this scenario (it is a hypothetical scenario. i may or may not have had this experience myself, and i may or may not have responded with option six. regardless of the truth of the matter. it remains hypothetical and largely theoretical) is to illustrate the desperate need for a call to greatness to the men of this great nation. So all that said, all apologies made, here goes:
If you're a dude. Start looking like it. Seriously. Nobody likes dealing with the awkwardness of mistaking gender. There is no way to recover from it. If you would just cut your damn hair and wear either loosefitting or oversized pants, you would save the service world a whole lot of heartache. Leave the girl pants to the girls. They look a lot better in them, and they look like they feel way more comfortable than any of you men with the tight-fitting crotch. Forget it. Maybe you'd feel less emo if you had pants that your legs and crotch actually had room in. You sing and whine about how you feel like you don't have a place in this world, but my theory is that it starts with your pants. How can you have room for people in your heart if you don't even have room in your pants for your body? Remember, you're a boy. Your girlfriend is a girl. If she wears a 4, you should not be wearing a 2. Wear the freaking 26 inch waist. In fact, Target is probably having a sale right now on pants, It is the holiday season after all, so hop on over there, throw down the $12.99, and buy yourself a pair of baggy jeans. Do it. I dare you.
There. I said it. Go forth into all the world and proclaim the good news.
Emo rules. Just stop singing about the heartache and do something about the clothes. It hurts me to look at you.
I'm serious.
Saturday, November 25, 2006
The Beginning of Life: Sex Ed From Christian and Zac, or; Is It True That If You Don't Use It, You Lose It?
Greetings to all. Zac and I have descended from on high to let you all (y’all for the NC-toolbags among us)…
(WHOA. Okay, Christian. I know you have the computer, but that was uncalled for.
Sorry.
It’s cool.
So anyways.)
We have descended from on high to…
(Hey, Christian!
::sigh:: What, Zac?
Well, fine, nevermind. Not if you’re gonna have that attitude.
Dude, what attitude? You interrupted me.
::whispers:: What makes you think I won’t cut you?
…::points:: That security camera.
Fair enough. You were saying?
Right…)
Zac and I have descended from on high to share with you Cretans the stuff we know about sex and why you shouldn’t have it…ever. Under any and all circumcisions.
::Zac coughs::
…sorry, circumstances.
(Don’t worry, it’s cool, dude. My bad.
No, Christian. It’s not cool. You always do that.
No, Zac, I frequently do that.
I frequently do your mother.
I’m not going to high five you for that. Put your hand down.
Come on, just once.
No.
But seriously,)
::Zac turns to audience that isn’t there::
Expressions like, “I frequently do Christian’s mother” or “I’d tap Christian’s mother,” reduce women to kegs and/or lesson plans that need to “get done.”
::Turns back to Christian::
(But seriously, I’d get your mom done.
For the last time, Zac, I am NOT going to give you a high five.
::Zac begins to mime sweeping the floor, implying that he would “clean that s*** up,” a gesture of sexual domination::
::Drew walks in::
(What’s up guys?
Zac is threatening to have sex with my mother.
Yeah, dude!
See, Christian, Drew gives me high fives. Why can’t you?
I can’t believe we’re having this conversation.
::Zac whispers to Christian::
Dude, how gay is Christian?
You're talking to me, dude.
Oh…my bad.
::Zac whispers to Drew::
Dude, how gay is Christian?
::Drew whispers back::
Seventy percent.
That high five looked stupid, AND I can hear every word you guys are saying.
So you guys called me in today to talk about sex, right? You know I’m a sexual Jedi.
Yeah, we heard that.)
Can you say a few words about your ascent to “sexual Jedi” status?
Well I’d better start with my training.
(No. Stop. Wrong. Bad.
Christian, seriously. You are such a naysayer.
No. Screw you, guys. This sucks.
So does your mom.
First of all, stop with the mom thing. Secondly, no high fives. Thirdly, you're sort of an ass.
::Zac starts crying::
Well, mom and dad fight because you cry at night.
::Zac runs out of the room::
::Drew and Christian look at each other::
You cry at night?
No.
Pansy.
::Drew leaves::
Seriously...I don't.)
Okay, so I'm glad you're all learned now. Have a good night.
(::Runs after Drew and Zac::
My crying is NOT why mom and dad fight!)
(WHOA. Okay, Christian. I know you have the computer, but that was uncalled for.
Sorry.
It’s cool.
So anyways.)
We have descended from on high to…
(Hey, Christian!
::sigh:: What, Zac?
Well, fine, nevermind. Not if you’re gonna have that attitude.
Dude, what attitude? You interrupted me.
::whispers:: What makes you think I won’t cut you?
…::points:: That security camera.
Fair enough. You were saying?
Right…)
Zac and I have descended from on high to share with you Cretans the stuff we know about sex and why you shouldn’t have it…ever. Under any and all circumcisions.
::Zac coughs::
…sorry, circumstances.
(Don’t worry, it’s cool, dude. My bad.
No, Christian. It’s not cool. You always do that.
No, Zac, I frequently do that.
I frequently do your mother.
I’m not going to high five you for that. Put your hand down.
Come on, just once.
No.
But seriously,)
::Zac turns to audience that isn’t there::
Expressions like, “I frequently do Christian’s mother” or “I’d tap Christian’s mother,” reduce women to kegs and/or lesson plans that need to “get done.”
::Turns back to Christian::
(But seriously, I’d get your mom done.
For the last time, Zac, I am NOT going to give you a high five.
::Zac begins to mime sweeping the floor, implying that he would “clean that s*** up,” a gesture of sexual domination::
::Drew walks in::
(What’s up guys?
Zac is threatening to have sex with my mother.
Yeah, dude!
See, Christian, Drew gives me high fives. Why can’t you?
I can’t believe we’re having this conversation.
::Zac whispers to Christian::
Dude, how gay is Christian?
You're talking to me, dude.
Oh…my bad.
::Zac whispers to Drew::
Dude, how gay is Christian?
::Drew whispers back::
Seventy percent.
That high five looked stupid, AND I can hear every word you guys are saying.
So you guys called me in today to talk about sex, right? You know I’m a sexual Jedi.
Yeah, we heard that.)
Can you say a few words about your ascent to “sexual Jedi” status?
Well I’d better start with my training.
(No. Stop. Wrong. Bad.
Christian, seriously. You are such a naysayer.
No. Screw you, guys. This sucks.
So does your mom.
First of all, stop with the mom thing. Secondly, no high fives. Thirdly, you're sort of an ass.
::Zac starts crying::
Well, mom and dad fight because you cry at night.
::Zac runs out of the room::
::Drew and Christian look at each other::
You cry at night?
No.
Pansy.
::Drew leaves::
Seriously...I don't.)
Okay, so I'm glad you're all learned now. Have a good night.
(::Runs after Drew and Zac::
My crying is NOT why mom and dad fight!)
and they will know us by the trail of pecan pies and grandpa chairs......and dead.
Hey ya'll, how's it doin'?? (That's translated "you all" and "how are you today?" for all you yankees.)
Asheville, NC was great, and the turkey was all right too, I guess (know what I'm sayin'!?)
I spent quality time with 4 to 5 slices of pecan pie, each saddled with a strapping portion of creamy vanilla icecream. I also fell asleep in an upright sitting position more times than I can recount, pushing my grandpa out of his prized nappin-chair and causing general disruption of routine in the patriarchal Chastain home. I also would like to here apologize for the horse language used in describing pecan pie I ate this week.
It hurts me to say it, but...
ya'll take care now.
zBc
Asheville, NC was great, and the turkey was all right too, I guess (know what I'm sayin'!?)
I spent quality time with 4 to 5 slices of pecan pie, each saddled with a strapping portion of creamy vanilla icecream. I also fell asleep in an upright sitting position more times than I can recount, pushing my grandpa out of his prized nappin-chair and causing general disruption of routine in the patriarchal Chastain home. I also would like to here apologize for the horse language used in describing pecan pie I ate this week.
It hurts me to say it, but...
ya'll take care now.
zBc
Friday, November 24, 2006
What's in Your Turkey?
I never really understood why the turkey companies decided it would be a good idea to cut off the turkey's neck and shove it back in the turkey's body through an orifice that needs not to be named. Who does that help? It's sort of debasing to the turkey, and that means that the turkey consumer has to reach his/her hand into the body of his/her soon to be meal, simply to pull out what never belonged inside in the first place and, furthermore, could simply have been discarded by the folks at Butterball. And need I mention the giblets?
Thanksgiving is a confusing time.
Thanksgiving is a confusing time.
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