Sunday, February 27, 2011

Random Notes IV

I hate when things sound like they are supposed to rhyme but don’t (there is a comedian named Brian Regan who has a bit about Dora the Explorer kind of rhyming but not – perfect example). There is a restaurant near my old apartment called Nellie’s Deli. Nellie Deli rhymes but Nellie’s Deli doesn’t. Every time I drove by it, I’d just let those words roll around my head. Why? It’s just annoying to me. There is also a store that sales ergonomic chairs and memory foam mattresses called Relax the Back. It kind of rhymes but doesn’t. It needs to change its name to Relax the Backs. Are they unaware of this? When I drive by it, I just say those words in my head over and over again. You might be thinking, well, it worked because you remember these places. Maybe they should rename these places Scrotum or Anus because I’d remember that, too. “Oh yeah, Scrotum has some great open faced roast beef sandwiches.”

The whole bathroom situation in my house is a mess. Actually, it’s the whole towel situation. My wife uses three towels every time she takes a shower, and without fail, she always takes a shower before me. Now, I’m all about saving laundry work and not using a new towel every time I shower. I imagine most people are clean when they get out of the shower, so it makes sense not to use a new one each time – just hang them up to dry. If my wife and I used new towels each time, we’d go through at least twenty-one a week. That’s an unreasonable amount of work. My problem is that she always takes a shower before me. Our towel rack really only fits three towels, so I always end up using a damp towel. I basically just smear the water off of me. I scream, “Injustice!” every day. I look forward to the day when I can use a dry towel. I’ve tried toilet paper but it’s just not the same.

I went to the store today to buy our weekly groceries. I bought the staple dinner items. I bought some different micro brewed beers (the seasonal spring time Blue Moon option and (Houston’s own) St. Arnold’s Lawnmower – both delicious). I even talked to a young woman about which beer purchases she should make. After I purchased all of the items, I left the store. As I walked out, I passed by some big reflective mirrors. My fly was down the entire time. Classic.

Thursday, February 24, 2011

100th Post!!!

This is my 100th post! It’s an accomplishment, I suppose. Not to sound arrogant or anything but I didn’t have any doubt I would stick with this blog thing, so meh. This does give me an opportunity to reflect on blogging in general. I wrote about what I had learned about blogging before, but this time I’m going to write about what I know now or still have questions about.

-           Does the way my blog looks matter? Like, if my content is of high quality (big IF there!), would people read it anyway? Does having a nice header make a difference? Do pretty, professional pictures make a difference? If any of these things are true then I’m in trouble because my blog looks like a fifth grader made it. Seriously, I bet I could get a fifth grader, show him how to log on to Blogger, and he could do a better job. I have no idea how to use HTML (I started reading about it but quickly got sucked into an episode of Gangland that was on in the background). Also, it was too hard.

My blog is like the chick in college who never wears make-up to class, wears pajamas everywhere, and has hair like a rat’s nest, but if you catch her at the right angle, there’s something there. Oh, there’s something there. She’s down to party, too.

-          Getting people to read requires a lot of sucking up. I always thought that if my blog was good enough one person would read and tell a friend and they’d tell a friend and so on. It does not work like that. The only way to get people to read is to read their blog. I feel like a few people kind of have a well-what’s-in-it-for-me attitude, and that’s cool. Have I already become disillusioned? I’m not talking about you! Of course not!

-          I’m getting to where I don’t remember what I’ve already written. I think, did I write a post about the hair smudge yet? Oh yeah, last week, duh. I have blogging Alzheimer’s.

-          I need to take my followers counter down. I’ve come to the conclusion that keeping that tally up only serves one purpose: people will follow if they think your blog is big enough in hopes that people will follow them in return. It’s okay. I did that, too. Also, some people have like 300 followers and 5 posts. What does having followers mean? Are they little trophies? The question is: will people read my blog if they don’t think I have any followers? Methinks not, so maybe I’ll leave it up for now.

I will admit that it’s useful for adding blogs to your Google reader, so you can check them out later.

-          With all of that being said about followers and the ways of blogging, I thoroughly enjoy reading some of the other blogs out there. Some of you do a great job, and I try to read and comment on everything you post. I really try to keep my blogroll pretty close to what I read and like the most.

-          My wife wants me to blog about my dogs more. She has never laughed at one of my posts but giggles with pure, utter ecstasy when I write about our dogs. When I put a picture of them on my blog, it makes her week. 

This is all for now. I’ll try to have something funny for you on Sunday. No promises though. I mean I will have something on Sunday. No promises on the funny part.


I'm participating in TexaGermaNadian's blog hop. Check it out! Her site is super cute.

Tuesday, February 22, 2011

Ode to Lady Haircutters

I think I mentioned this before, but it is important to mention again even if I already did. I found a good haircutter lady, Maria. I must first mention that I refuse to go to a fancy boutique of any sorts to get a haircut. My high-and-tight fade is pretty easy to do and has to be cut regularly enough where I refuse to pay more than $15 for it. I’ve searched far and wide to find a dive haircut place; I’ve looked around my work and where I live and have settled on the Fantastic Sam’s around the corner from my house. Honestly, I don’t have a specific haircutter there because I don’t want to hurt any of their feelings. Maria did it the best, but I will settle for one of the others. I just take the first available and pray it isn’t a man.

I don’t get how men get haircuts from other men, like at a barbershop. I derive more physical pleasure from a haircutter than I do from any other person (besides the obvious… I’m married). I’m not getting creepy here so don’t you. I’m not some deviant haircut fetish perv. I just think getting my hair washed feels awesome, getting my head shaved feels super awesome, and getting my hair cut feels super-duper awesome. This is the closest I get to infidelity.

A man doing it would just ruin the moment. My haircutter, whoever she may be, and I share these moments when she bonks my head with the clippers and blow dries my forehead; it’s cannot be shared with a man. A man would just create confusion and self-doubt. Can he do it just as well? He can talk about sports, too; is that better? Does he get me more because he’s a man?


Women haircutters.

I like women haircutters.

Sunday, February 20, 2011

Advice to College Guys

According to WebMD, “The most common symptom of acute bronchitis is a cough that is dry and hacking at first. After a few days, the cough may bring up mucus. You may have a low fever and feel tired.” You will thank me for this later college guys.

When I was in college, I began having these symptoms. Because I didn’t know how to go to the doctor in college, I went to the emergency room. I went to the emergency room any time anything was wrong. In Austin, I literally lived across the street from St. David’s Hospital, so what the hell, right? You can’t beat the convenience. That is all beside the point (whoa… by the way… there is a huge debate online whether to use beside or bedsides there); the doctor saw me, quickly determined I had bronchitis, and sent me on my way with a prescription with only a mild scolding for wasting the hospital’s time and resources.

I went to the nearest pharmacy and got my prescription filled. The lady behind the counter said, “Just pour the powder into some hot water and drink it. You should better pretty quickly.” She then handed me a box marked: Chlamydia.

I said, “Uh, I don’t have Chlamydia. I have bronchitis. There must be some mistake.”

“You kind of look like a scum bag, so I thought you might need it,” she said with her eyes.

“Oh, yeah, the same medicine is used to treat both ailments. It’ll work,” she really said.

I took the box and made a beeline for my apartment, being ultra-careful not to run into anyone I knew (especially my then girlfriend who lived in the apartment across the hall. “Oh, what’s this box with Chlamydia written across the front? It’s for my lungs. Don’t worry about it.”). Ultimately, I took the medicine without running in to anyone or having any problems, and my bronchitis cleared up pretty quickly soon thereafter. The moral of this story is if you’re a scumbag, a loose woman, or just have discharge coming from your penis or rectum, memorize the symptoms at the top of this page. If you do a good job of faking it, you can get out of that pinch without the embarrassment of an anal probe.

P.S. I thought Chlamydia and crabs were the same thing, so I had a bunch of crab puns all throughout my post. “If you’re in a pinch…” It turns out that they are not the same. There appears to be quite a bit more oozing with Chlamydia.

Wednesday, February 16, 2011

Hair Smudge Update

If you haven’t read my last post about the hair smudge, read this. If you have, here is the couch. The picture didn’t come out that well, but I think you get it.

Tuesday, February 15, 2011

Hair Smudge

In my classroom, there is spot on the wall where someone’s hair grease left a mark. There is a dark, gross smudge where someone probably rested their head for an entire semester. Here is a picture:

Is this not the grossest thing you’ve ever seen? I feel like if I were this person, I would have noticed that this spot was forming and done something about it. They did not. This spot emerged from some magical place 2 years ago but was tamed and imprisoned (a la one of the Titans from Greek Mythology). Well actually, as a responsible adult, I patiently waited for the year to end and put a Lou Gehrig poster over it.

Well, it brought reinforcements and this time: it’s personal.

I share an office with some other coaches at my school. In our office, we have a couple mini-fridges, a microwave, and a couch. The couch is great if you want to take a load off and relax for a second or two before or after practice – well, it used to be. Some coach has been coming in there to take a nap before his practice starts later on in the day. Don’t look so concerned; this is a common thing. Coaches are constantly at school. Regardless, there is a hair grease spot on the arm of our whitish, grayish couch now. It is grosser than the other spot. If I ever want to lie down, I have to put wrap on it like I’m on a damn toilet. I literally caught myself laying toilet paper down on the arm because I didn’t want it to touch my head. I can’t use the other arm of the couch because it ends right where the office door opens, and getting my head smashed in the door is slightly worse.

What’s wrong with these people? First off, why do they leave noticeable head residue on walls and couches like Slimmer from Ghostbusters? My hair doesn’t do that. My wife’s hair doesn’t do that. My pug, Earl, who gets a bath like every 2 weeks doesn’t do that! People, if we aren’t going to wash our hair then we need to not rest it on things – things that I might touch.

I’m still sick. I think people like short posts anyways.

Sunday, February 13, 2011

Random Notes III

I don’t have the mental capacity to write a full, coherent blog post today, for I have Swine Flu. Yes, I’m so out of style that I just caught on to Swine Flu from 2009. I was shivering in bed on Thursday night and woke up with a 102.5 temperature on Friday. It has sucked to say the least. I’ve just been going in and out of consciousness for 3 days. Don’t get Swine Flu if you can help it.

Here are notes from my deathbed:

Movies and Movie Commercials I’ve Seen

The King of Kong is an awesome movie – possibly the best movie about video games of all time. 

Why does Hollywood keep making romantic comedies? They all look just so horrible. When the plot of a movie can be summarized in one sentence, it shouldn’t be made. How do these movies make enough money to pay back their stars? For example, take the new one with Adam Sandler and Jennifer Aniston called Brooklyn Decker is Wearing a Yellow Bikini or the new one with Ashton Kutcher and Natalie Portman called Friends Sleeping Together and also the Indian Chick from The Office (you choose). How do they make enough money to pay the actors? On average, each one of the actors gets paid at least $10 million, so that’s $20 million for both actors per movie. There is no way these movies are making that money back, right? I mean, people aren’t seeing them, right?

Also, what’s up with Big Momma’s House 3? How did a second movie get made, much less a third? Who is the target audience for this by the way? I don’t know any black people who are dumb/lame enough to like this, so maybe dumb white people who think it will impress their black friends if they see this pretend to like it.

Other Stuff

On Friday, CBS interrupted The Price is Right to tell it’s viewers that President Mubarak of Egypt had officially stepped down. I get why this is news, but seriously, do we need to interrupt TPIR? I can personally guarantee that no one watching TPIR on a Friday morning gives a crap about Middle Eastern politics. I threw my orange juice at the TV because I didn’t get to see how much that knife set cost. I’m still pissed.

I can barely sit up because I’m so sick, but my back really hurts from lying down so much. I’ve run out of solutions.

This looked like the nicest weekend in Houston in a long time, and I was inside watching a marathon of Yes, Dear.  No joke. I had never seen an episode before, and now I could answer any trivia question about it. Like...

What is the crappiest sitcom of all time?

Yes, Dear.

Ding, ding, ding, ding, ding…. You win!