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.
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