Working vs Relationships

It was recently posited to me that asking someone out quite closely parallels trying to get a job interview. His basic premise: after initial interview you often are needed back for a secondary one after candidates for the position have been narrowed down, if you get the job you need to perform well or you'll get fired, and if you don't like quitting outright you can deliberately sabotage the job and hope that they don't need your services so badly that they keep you anyway.

Not a bad comparison overall. I constantly hear people say relationships are work. Maybe I misinterpreted that as a metaphor. Perhaps analysis of the opposite will yield better understanding. Being unemployed vs being 'unemployed':
* Don't care about what you look like
* The main things you spend money on are alcohol and fast food
* You spend half the day celebrating not having to work and the other half scheming of ways to get someone to pay you without putting in the effort
* You hate being around people who are 'employed'
* The most frequented place outside of your apt is your parents house
* While everyone else is 'working' you spend your time playing video games and watching TV
* The older you get, the more socially unacceptable it seems to become

The only problem lies in the fact that if you go long enough without having a real job the government will send you a welfare check. Maybe I need to stick with it longer but I have yet to receive a giant box with holes punched in it that smells like cheap perfume with the return address of the US government.

Omaha being Omaha

Wow, It's been awhile since I dusted off the digital pen and started blogging again. Hard to get back on the horse after a layoff. Now I know what aging pornstars must feel like.

Anyway, I recently left my second job at a gym. My job description was essentially to walk around to....anyone, and give them a free week pass to come into the gym. Seemingly not that difficult. However, I'm here to tell you that not all humans share my zeal for anything free. Most people were willing to give me their names. I did have a few entries that made me question their validity: China, Zappo, Fabi, and Koko (a guy) but not like I can call them out while trying to get them to accept a coupon from me. One trend I did pick up was that I had a alarmingly high 'hit' rate (meaning cell phone and name) from the 30-45 year old women demographic. Now, I'm not a salesmen, but this type of statistic would suggest that maybe I should be, for a product like Botox, e-harmony, or cougar perfume. This, coupled with my popularity with the 19 and under crowd at my previous gym pretty much tells me the only group of people I have no idea how to talk to is the one I currently exist in. I'm sure there is a marketing opportunity in here somewhere but I can't quite put my finger on it.

One other reason I probably shouldn't try to make a living selling is the simple fact that I have off days. You know, days where talking to someone you don't know ranks slightly below swallowing a urine coated pine cone. Now I'm not saying my days are the worst, BUT the combination of bloodshot sleepy eyes, a size medium black shirt (you'd think at a gym where they promote working out there'd be more XL's), a five day old beard, and aggressively walking up to people with my finger pointed loudly saying, "Hey, You want a free pass to a gym!" has yielded very low results so far.

Living Life

My current job involves selling gym memberships to a gym that doesn't exist yet. That's the only thing i'll say on that topic.

Last Friday I was privy to an experience everyone should have at least one point in there lives. Going out with the Young family. Octoberfest was in full swing at the Crescent Moon which stymied the momentum from an entertaining evening at my former female permeated house of residence. Downtrodden but unwilling to give up the night, we about face and head to a relatively benign Barrets. The bar is nothing to the naked eye, but after the raising of several flagons of libations we have so far encountered: a salty waitress, a guy i played ball with who stepped in for the maligned aforementioned waitress, a brief encounter by another troop to see what the commotion was, and the arrival of three of societies finest manifested in the human bodies of the Young offspring. Now, my interpretation of events may be skewed. Anyone who responds to my inquiry with, "Yes Al, playing Bailamos at a bar is a fantastic idea," is automatically my friend for life. As you may have guessed, the eldest Young played the role of enabler and somehow tables were cleared whereupon a dance party ensued the likes of which the barren halls of Barret's had not seen before and neigh will see again. Such greatness had this isolated pocket of celebration that even when I reported to work a scant 4 hours after the last consumption of a beverage a doubt or remorse never entered my still quite intoxicated head the entire day.

In a totally unrelated matter I slept for about 12 hours the subsequent night. Long live random Omaha bars. Although in all fairness to Crescent Moon, I heard it was a pretty great time too.

More Ideas

I've discovered the ultimate strategy to find out who your best friends are; delete one person from your facebook friends list every day for 317 days. Then, start calling them Danny Glover (or insert woman equivalent of buddy cop movie) and you're set.

After an intense internet search and a possible virus download I have ascertained the identity of the hottest girl on the planet. Formerly, she was known as 'the chick from the Call On Me music video,' now, Deanne Berry. But, just to prove that nothing good ever comes without some element sucking, she lives in England.

Evidently women traded senior year photos from high school. I'm confident this is gender exclusive; I can't think of another reason I wouldn't have any photos of friends from high school.... Anyway, it must suck to be a girl in high school. All the guys look completely retarded and like they are 15 years old. Most of the women could pass for 20. I'm not sure where else to go with that thought; I feel like I should be able to draw some sort of conclusion but it blew my mind so thoroughly smoke was coming out of my head.

Lastly, if any of you readers feel like you want to dance with my knowledge of fantasy basketball a league is forming. But, if you join the league, and your first draft pick is Kyle Korver or J.J. Reddick I will hate you forever and egg your house, or your parents house...if that's where you happen to live.

Update

A couple observations that aren't developed into full thoughts:
1. Tina Fey's body is a government vessel used to transport the most creative tv writing mind in the United States.
2. I just realized the rapper Ghost Face Killer is talking about murdering white people. Still like his music though.
3. I still get amused when the temperature is 69 degrees.
4. The frugality of cutting off the sleeves of t-shirts slightly outweighs the douchebaggery of wearing a sleeve on your head. I'm bringing it back.
5. Why doesn't anyone wear baseball hats of their favorite band?
6. Halestorm is the first rock band with a chick as the lead singer I thought was good with the possible exception of Lacuna Coil.
7. I have nearly reached critical mass trying to balance going out with working out. Something has to give.
8. I need to start mailing in suggestions right now on how to end the next Resident Evil movie. I feel like the franchise has turned into the Dallas Cowboys: awesome action, extremely hot women, interesting personalities, all rolled into one big ball of disappointment. I'm willing to make a concession for good action but how hard can that possibly be. Joel made a history video in high school with light sabers and force powers that rocked and it wasn't even for him.

Doldrums

Some guy in a full length raincoat and a handlebar mustache told me that Leonardo Di Vinci used to sleep for 2 hours at a time, then stay awake for 6 thus minimizing his time wasted sleeping. I saw no reason not to trust this fine gentlemen so I'm giving it a shot. So far my productivity has remained exactly the same (see below), BUT, i'm sleeping 2 hours less per day. I think it's fair to say that's a win.

I recently turned 26 earlier this week. For awhile I thought to myself, "Al, you have no job, no girlfriend, and you're living at home. Could it be, that on some level, you are underachieving?" Then my rational side took over (possibly the same one susceptible to the advice in paragraph 1), "That's nonsense. You're in your mid 20's, spending every day doing some combination of hanging out, working out, and going out. It's what you always wanted." Filled with renewed vigor, I marched to the local grocery in search of their finest supply of Boone's Farm.

I will say the unfortunate side of not working at a place rife with interesting people such as Prairie Life has cost me a substantial amount of blog material. To circumvent this, I recently purchased a book on body language. I think you can see where i'm going with this. Further posts will follow.

Escapades

Ahh the rigors of writing a new blog. I'll have to institute a new password for certain blogs, this will be: dharma, raynor, ultralisk, nifty, kindred. Over the last 4 days i've discovered a few foolproof methods for meeting hot women. They include: wearing disgusting workout clothes into the local grocery, doing something flagrantly violating the law, or concoct a beautifully constructed plan as you go to your old college bars. The last one i'll elaborate on.

So my contingent consisted of an intelligent baseball player (had acid reflux and proved to be completely useless), a law school student (went missing but has a generally negative view on life anyway), and his friend who was still in college but randomly turned out to be awesome (Andrew). Andrew and I proceeded to have an epic meeting of the minds amidst multiple bicardi and cokes. I spent no less than one hour in this two man cabal coming up with the ideal women at this bar (Picked from the throngs of women with...good personalities. College bars have tons of them) and the ideal plan to deal with said women.

Phase: 1. pick out two women who look like they didn't just turn 21. A.K.A. might actually be my age (25).
2. make sure they are without male consorts
3. send out wingman (in this case the new friend) to buy drinks 5 minutes prior to
4. pretend you work at beer company and you are given free beers every 15 minutes.
5. improvise


Game time. I pinpoint the lucky women who get the chance to talk to me. They've been having a ribald conversation for at least 20 minutes with no interruption. That was about to change.

I shrug my shoulders and enter hostile territory speaking first to the Asian girl, "You look like Lucy Liu." Needless to say this was met with silence. Without skipping a beat I turn to the white girl, "I don't know how to tell you this but your friend is racist." After this, my read on emotions went straight to hell. She seemed to think it was funny but you can't rely on friend bashing to get you through an entire conversation. Andrew makes his timely entrance. The white girl lucidly responds, "Why doesn't he have a miller shirt on?" Unwilling to relinquish the falsehood of our plan I jump immediately to step 5, "I told him it looked ridiculous and made him take it off at the last bar." White girl immediately dawns a suspicious demeanor and within the next 3 minutes they wave over two guys, who I have to assume were escorts, and the night was done.

Overall I feel like Andrew and I were onto a major revelation. We had the untapped support of the baseball player (I won't name him but his nickname is Buck) and the law student (you know who you are). Surely with our combined intellects success would have prevailed. It clearly failed that night but optimism was extracted and future endeavors will be undertaken...ladies beware.

Blog Update

In my quest to banish my ignorance from the blogging setup I have incorporated a new feature of rating posts. Unfortunately, I either didn't see, or they didn't make any hostile response options. Please consider options, "hate it" "amatur" and "wtf" to also be valid replies. Since there isn't a box you'll have to respond manually, which in turn subjects you to my scorching wit. Enter at your own risk.

In other news, I've added Mike as a co-author. In order to tell apart the author of each post I will sign off with a really badass nickname. I don't know what that is yet. I'm debating between: The Lightning Thief, Freeze Train, Sizeable Mango, A, and Rocksteady. Any other suggestions or comments on which is better?

Lastly, anyone who can show me how to incorporate new cool features to the blog such as video linking, photo uploading, and the like will be awarded a prize.

Re: Theory

A couple additions or concerns:

Say you needed 100 hot units to satisfy yourself.

For arguments sake, what if you spent the first half of your day staring at ugliest naked women in the world? Would you still be at 0 hot units on the day, or would you be at -20, -100, maybe -10,000? Would you have to look at enough women to get to 0 and then back up to your required +100 hot units to end the day?

Also, is there a law of conservation of sex drive present? If so, you would need to balance out that +100 hot units sometime in your sleep, ie a compelling argument FOR nocturnal emissions. Or do your accumulated hot units simply radiate out in your sleep in the form of dreams? More on the conservation of hot units: Do women possess an infinite amount of these? I suppose they would have to, if everyone watching the thong song were satisfied.

I also think there should be some model for physical actions, weighted appropriately of course. Say you are physically spent twice in one day. You might spend the rest of the day playing vids or maybe making egg salad, but certainly no more hot units need be gained.

Theory

When I was working at Prairie Life I never really watched much TV. I assumed it was because I was too busy so I never thought much of it. I came to a startling realization now that I'm unemployed, I watch a lot more TV! Ok, maybe startling isn't the right word. But, It's not like I'm enjoying it. TV sucks. In light of that fact, I've developed a new theory; every guy has a preset internal quota for how many attractive women he needs to see during an average day in order to function properly. If I'm living out of a basement and never leave the house, I would estimate that I need to watch several dance music videos (of the 'call on me' variety), one hour of Ochocinco trying to find love, or perhaps one viewing of the Thong Song. But, if I work at a gym where attractive people go all the time then come home and only watch American Dad or Futurama I must have met my quota. The theory is still in its infantile stages but I think i'm onto something.

This theory is great because it has multiple outlets. For example, I'm getting ready to go workout at my old high school after spending most of the day reading at home. If I don't flip to Coyote Ugly (on tonight at 8) or some other scandalous show then clearly my quota of seeing attractive women has been satisfied.....which would mean that I find high school women attractive. Ok this theory isn't without it's problems. But name one that is.

National Pastime

Last weekend I once again relished in the dominance of a WWE wrestler turned legit. Not only was it awesome to see an entire bar root against one guy and then have that guy win, but it also gave me another pillar in support of my nascent hypothesis that if you are generally unpleasant to be around, you likely own a Tapout or Affliction T-shirt. They really need to get those shirts under control. Anyone who has at least 1 victory in mixed martial arts can wear them. Everyone else needs to take a couple deep breaths and come to terms with the fact that they're not a badass.

In celebration of Lesnar's inspiring victory I went to a small gathering where I encountered a hostile (possible Tapout shirt owning) youth who was vehemently hating on the much loved and potentially greatest beer drinking game of all time....flip cup. His point was, girls play the game. Thus deducing that if one were to play the game, they must be a girl. Now, I'm not disputing that girls play the game. In fact, that same piece of evidence is proof that guys play the game. Where is one place guys are looking to be if they're drinking...where girls are. And that was it, that was basically the argument. Try and imagine that same discussion taking place over 15 minutes, but littered with slanderous comments and raised voices. At the time, I thought using his same evidence against him was the key to victory (you should be proud Mike). I didn't even delve into the many other virtues flip cup has to offer including: best combination of beer skill and RL skill, capable of involving unlimited participants, and an undisputed weak link every game upon which frustration may be vented. I defy anyone to name a better game.

The best player I've seen to date is a Russian residing in Chicago. Talent is only 10% of a successful flip cup player though. The other 90% is all heart.

End of era part II

Prairie Life recently decided they were more upset by my lack of money than I was. I suppose I should be offended by a club letting me go that doesn't pay me anything for hours that i'm there and not training. I was really hoping if I got fired to have a baseball players farewell and simply open my locker one day to a hanging red card. Instead they had to act all adult and mature and schedule a meeting. Nothing really incites my anger like a display of responsibility in place of a well humored firing. I was, however, fortunate enough to witness another bathroom act that made my day much better upon leaving. It is evidently common practice for males who are so busy/lazy that they don't have enough time to fully pull down the front end of their shorts to simply lift up one leg of the shorts and let it rip. The risk benefit ratio for this action is hugely slanted in favor of risk. The thrill of failure and utter embarrassment must be what entices young entrepreneurs these days.

Last night I went to a Papa Roach concert. I had to put my head in an ice bath for an hour after to re-solidify my face after "Last Resort" reduced it to a melted indistinguishable puddle of flesh.
After two bands I noticed something was amiss. Angry white guys...check; mohawks, tattoos, piercings...check; obese white women...check; disturbed gothic looking youth...check; hot women and minorities...nothing. What's wrong with the world today if hot women refuse to go to hard rock concerts. They have to do something in between John Mayor and Lady Gaga shows. And black people, WTF? The lead singer of Sevendust is black. How about some solidarity. The only way angry white guys can shake the stereotype of rock concerts is for more people from other demographics to show up. I mean i'd go see Jay-Z if he ever came to Omaha. And also if he charged less than 100 dollars for tickets. But that seems unlikely to happen. Maybe I should just embrace my own stereotype and get a mohawk and some tattoos. Any good tattoo ideas?

P.S. The spell check of blogger is telling me mohawk should be capitalized or hyphenated. I dunno.

Locker Room escapades

I stopped to wash my hands in the locker room today and I casually glanced to my left to acknowledge the dude standing there. He seemed like a normal enough guy at first glance: shaving cream on his face, white t-shirt, inconspicuous hair. Something seemed off though. When I turned to leave I finally saw it. And yes I mean 'it. Below the 'mason dixon' line was nothing except socks. Who goes for a shave with a t-shirt, no pants, and socks? My mouth formed was forming this very question before my feet wisely took over; I exited without an encounter.

A week or so ago I saw a guy in a similar situation who was completely naked and simply rubbing his chest up and down without even a pretense of normal grooming. It occurred to me then that we need two locker rooms for men: one for people who like being naked, and the other for people who simply see it as one step towards getting clean. My uneasiness around hairy, naked, fat men has caused me to refine my locker room routine to the point where the CIA would be impressed with my efficiency.

I'm wondering if some sort of analysis can be gleaned from these observations. Should I be tapering my programs towards acquiring extra girth around the mid section so men have more of themselves to rub? I'd say the answer lies just beneath the surface but if that's the answer...I think i'm asking the wrong question.

Back

I'm writing this blog after my second longest streak away from beer. The streak list goes something like this: 1) 20.5 years 2) 6 weeks 3) to small to be significant. Turns out the key to sobriety is vestibular neuritis. I'm going to start a support group and cure the world.

Since my brain has only recently returned to it's normal trenchant self I have only one question which I would submit for response. Is porn the only sport that white people will always be better at than black people? If there were to be a porn Olympics would there be weight divisions? Is the word 'porn' a synonym for sex or does it represent the dialog, the setting, the costume, the whole...shebang?

End of an era

The epoch where I room with two women has finally come to a grinding halt. But, I couldn't have asked for it to end a better way. My uncool roommate, who was dating "the situation," (I've chosen to continue calling him 'the situation' mostly because I can't figure out what the fuck is wrong with him, not because you can fly an aircraft off of his abs) finally validated my previously unbelieved claims that they were...doing the gorilla march. Validated those claims for an astounding 80 minutes. Who last 80 minutes? I can't remember a porno I've seen that was longer than 30 and those guys get paid. Clearly this dude is some sort of bedroom Optimus Prime. I'm not even sure who I should call to report this stallion. Maybe I can get a cut of the finders fee. I am still awaiting the resolution of this conflict though. My response was to hurry my move out date. My roommate who owns the house has fewer options. She elected to send an email which hilariously documents her disgust in such a way that you feel like you're reading an office letter, "and so...if you feel certain desires overtake you, do try to be as discrete as possible to prevent disrupting the work of your fellow employees." I can't imagine a situation where I confront them that doesn't end with me high five-ing 'the situation' and then, downtrodden, retreating to my room for some serious soul searching; trying vainly to put together how this most unimpressive of men morphs into captain planet once the night hits.

Women........idk

I'm not sure if I mentioned this yet but the trainer female to guy ratio is about 9/4. It would seem men and women have bonded together in our love of working with attractive, in shape females. Who knew. As a result of this disparity I am forced to spend my refueling stops (or lunches as you may know them) with a table full of these female creatures. Maybe the fact that they bring several leaves of lettuce and a handful of water chestnuts to eat whereas I bring two sandwiches, two apples, and two yogurts is responsible for the much larger amount of time they spend talking than me. Or maybe they believe lunch is actually a time for the purging of internal thoughts to ready themselves for the afternoon. I swear they don't even listen to each other. Everyone is talking about themselves while nodding in affirmation at some inane thing another girl just said.

Anyway, I usually check out about this time and until today I thought I was just accepting the fact that I couldn't handle that much communication during the sacred process of food consumption. I was off in my thoughts, well into my second sandwich, when through the fog of the conversation the word "boobs" floats to the fringes of my consciousness. Instinctively, my head raises. The three chatting women notice my enhanced mental state and stop talking, evidently assuming I am ready to contribute. I can safely assume, even without knowing the background of the convo, that I have nothing useful to add. Yet, still they are looking at me expectantly.

"I came in late. What were you talking about?" I said.

Laughter ensued and one of them commented to the other, "He is such a guy. Not paying attention."

I picked up my lunch and left to ponder what just happened. Initially, I was annoyed. Then I got even more annoyed that I was annoyed in the first place. Finally, upon further ruminating I realized two important things had occurred 1. I just stumbled upon an evidently widely accepted practice of men ignoring the conversation of women simply because they are dudes. At last, a stereotype that works in my favor. 2. They latched onto my ignoring of the conversation instead of my perking up at the utterance of the word "boobs." For the longest time I thought the stereotype of guys thinking about sex reigned above all others. At long last we as a male species are breaking down the shackles of stereotypes.

In order to celebrate my discovery I promptly queued "Disturbed", drank an energy drink, and went to go lift weights; then went home to eat ground beef and watch sportscenter.

Job escapades 2

I've decided I need to submit picture to one of those extreme makeover shows.

A few days back I saw someone come into the gym to workout that I met about a month ago. As I remember it, we had a jovial conversation, we talked about her recent moves, exercise, whatever. She had a really attractive face, but was at least 35 and had a reason to be at the gym, if you know what I mean. I was in my workout clothes so no work uniform. I see her, and hop on the elliptical next to her to say hi. The conversation went something like this
Me: "hey"
* no response *
Me: *tap arm* "how's it going"
Girl turns to look at me: "oh, hey"
Girl turns back to tv
Me: "glad to see you back at the gym, it's been awhile"
* no response*
Me: "do you remember who I am?"
* again, no response and I now detect that she is not actually watching tv, she is staring straight ahead with the intensity of a women who just noticed a Macy's 50% off sign*

Needless to say this threw me. What could possibly be going through her mind at this point. Does she think i'm a T-rex? I can see her. Does she truly believe she is hot enough that I am hitting on her? Again....I can still see her. It's 2:00 PM on a sunday. TV quality is conspicuously absent. I am completely confounded. I actually considered getting my prairie life uniform and approaching her again just to test my theory. Then I realized this was not a winning scenario either way. If she did recognize me then that means i look like some sort of rapist/killer/whatever. If she didn't she would probably call the manager and I'd have to do some bull shit sexual harassment training. Last thing I'll mention...the day this happened was Easter; the day Jesus awoke from his 200 year slumber to battle Mephistopheles with nothing but his horse Warbringer and a 30lb morningstar. It's been awhile since I read the bible but I think my point stands.

So, i'm open to suggestions. Chase, I think you won best dressed in high school. What's the deal here.

Kleptomania

I never really thought of myself as a criminal. When I glance around my apartment and see piles of pens, plastic silverware, paper, and a couple towels with a company logo on them I consider it more evidence of employment than anything else. It gave me a moment to think. Clearly, insignificant sundry items are of great value to me. The very thought of going out and buying 200 pieces of my own plastic cutlery for 3 dollars is abhorrent enough to merit lifting some from gym "Merry Wife." (The name has been heavily encoded for super secret protection) If two companies were recruiting me and one offered me a free lunch every Friday, I can guarantee which company I would choose. If ever I set down the shackles of apathy and start my own gym or business, first on the docket will be to give everyone a pen with a unique color and their name engraved on it. Likely it will cut down on 'missing pens' by a factor of 7000. It will also allow me to track whoever has been jamming my suggestion box with comment cards claiming 'everyone in the gym wants a ping pong table.'

I have been conducting a small experiment at work. When I see a hot girl working out (between the ages of 18 and 30) I reroute my 'talking to customer' circuit to include her. I then begin a harmless and noninvasive conversation and take note of how much time elapses before she brings up the fact that she has a boyfriend. Mixed results so far. Two women have gone out of their way to bring it up in the first sentence. Others have been a little more tactful but so far every one of my 10 or so encounters have ended with some mention of a significant other. (Ended might be the wrong choice of words. I don't leave as soon as I hear the word boyfriend. I simply stop paying attention...you know...since SCIENTIFICALLY the conversation is over)

Now granted, I need to broaden my sample size but the initial results have me believing that every hot girl in that age group has a boyfriend. Theoretically, that is possible. Also possible, they are lying. Why would they lie? Do they think that I stole a "Merry Wife" uniform? Do they honestly believe I just talked to 5 other people as a ruse, trying to lull them into a false sense of security? If at a bar, fine, i'll grant that as an acceptable defense mechanism. But while i'm at work?! Come on. Clearly I am missing something here. It would be fun to spend a day inside the head of a hot girl. Life must be so....real. Getting free food, smiles, waves, tons of facebook friend invites for 'seemingly no reason' must make life wonderful. Then the terrifying moment when someone over 200 lbs approaches. It must be similar to a deer looking up and seeing a bear lurch drunkenly into a clearing. Danger is afoot and they need to get out. Quick, mention a bear you are currently dating. The strange new bear slowly loses interest and backs away. Crisis averted.

Undirected thoughts

1. My process of completely assimilating a song has nearly formulaic in nature. I'll be living my life, as normally as I usually do, when I see something very obscure that reminds me of a song I heard on the radio. Or it will be something overt like a todaysbigthing video of a bunch of tough guys singing Savage Garden. Most recently it was Savage Garden. The stimulus is now planted. This song will be in my head for the next two days and I won't mind much...it's a catchy song. A few days pass. The song is still in my head and I have started to hate it until I want to bulldog the next person that says any variation of the words "truly, madly, deeply". A few more days pass. The anger fades. I hear the song on the radio and realize I have acted rashly. I now "buy" it on limewire and Savage Garden comes to their final resting place on the "good singles" playlist in my itunes.

2. If life operated as a mortal kombat tournament in a parallel universe Mike would be that universe's equivalent to Shang Tsung. The caveat being instead of killing your opponent you had to defeat them a pointless argument. There wouldn't be health bars, but 'soul bars.' You would lose when your will was crushed. Mike-Shang Tsung's fatality would be causing his opponent to break down into tears and then yell uncontrollably as he/she rushes into oncoming traffic.

3. Kudos to facebook for finally making it easier to delete friends. Double kudos to Megan for showing me how to do it. Too long have these freeloaders I met one time been claiming to be my friend. An internet rapture is looming and all those unworthy will be left behind in an apocalypse of chaos.

Shopping

I love purchasing things in bulk quantity. Costco has been the single highest grossing corporation by at least three slices of pie according to the graphic of my wells fargo spending report. Somehow, they've reached into the furthest depths of my mind and analyzed me better than I ever could. They don't even have to say anything. I can imagine what they are thinking, "He seems like a smart guy, if he eats one granola bar every morning, he would be saving himself countless trips to the store if he bought 150 granola bars right now." I have to agree. That does seem like a savvy buy. Step 1 complete. Step 2, get me to come back to the store. Mission....failed!! What now Costco, I have 150 granola bars, I don't need you anymore. Thank god I had nothing to do this afternoon and found this deal, cause you are going out of business very soon. 30 days go buy. I reach down into my stash and... nothing. Somehow I managed to consume 150 granola bars in 30 days. How is that even possible?

The short of it is, Costco cheated. Costco knew I loved looking at stacks of food and that I love things to be even and symmetrical. There is no symmetry when I have my regular stash of food and then a forklift of granola bars. Obviously, I'm going to spend all my waking hours eating granola bars; I need to even out the stack.

I took a moment to think about it and I literally remembered a day where I nearly had to vomit because I was so sick of granola bars but ate them anyway. I mean, it was the smart thing to do financially. I could go out and buy dinner, or I could eat 8 granola bars.

If you can't beat them, join them. I am now proud to say my stacks of apples, yogurt, energy drinks, gatorade, vitamin water, granola bars, and frozen meat are equally huge. Somehow, I still find a reason to go back every two weeks.

A last thought on the energy drinks they sell. I'm currently trying one called "zipfizz" the side of the box reads, "41,667% Vitamin B12." Just below that it reads "4-6 hours of energy." I'm here to tell you that there is a typo in that second quotation. It should in fact read, "4-6 minutes of energy." My advice to all those who drink it, be prepared. You are going to experience the 5 most productive minutes of your life followed by an instant nap while your body shuts off and reboots. Try not to stand around anything sharp.

New Job

Things that suck:
1. The endless cycle of not being able to sleep, knowing you need sleep, becoming more awake with the aggravation of not being able to sleep.
2. The realization that I cannot sleep because I know the ignorant fool I argued with today is sleeping like a baby, comforted by thoughts of his righteous 'victory' over my supreme 'ignorance.' This is partially what has led me to my hypothesis that when two people leave an argument, each thinking the other is a detriment to the human race, the person actually diluting the gene pool is the one who isn't bothered by the others idiocy six hours later.
3. Taco Bell not delivering to my house.


Things that rock:
1. Hot sauce
2. Me, after a successful song on guitar hero.
3. Sinking the final cup in beer pong.
4. Anyone, after a successful song on guitar hero.

I would like to mention that I am entering my 18th day working as a personal trainer at Prairie Life (pause for applause). I would also like to mention that my current streak of days passed without having to tell someone he needed to leave because his nipples were showing has ended at 17 days.

A Stranger in a Strange Land

After spending two months living with two members of the female species I have made several observations which I'm sure can be generalized to every women...ever:

1.I can tell you exactly what time they got out of bed every day that I've spent the night here (despite the fact that I live in the basement)
2.They love making lots of food and eating a small amount of it, in effect, leaving the freezer and fridge near max capacity at all times
3.They possess an intense affection for small dogs both of which (the affection and dog) annoy the bejesus out of me
4.They are very linear thinkers. Whatever the current problem is, it has the same relevance as an asteroid about to hit Earth.
5.Their obsession with men far surpasses men's obsession with women. The difference is probably in the fact that their obsession is multifaceted, contrasted to men's very singular obsession.


I feel akin to Jane Goodall; if I could replace apes with humans. I'm essentially living with a married couple and a less clearly defined couple that has the scent of something you would see on the “Jersey Shore.” Unfortunately, I have yet to see any guys with the same disposition as “The Situation.” Yet, the wine does flow like water, there is still hope.

number 2

I had the good fortune to be hired on as a personal trainer yesterday. I figure this is the perfect opportunity to hit up that overweight middle-age female demographic that has been so elusive over the years. It got me to thinking though. What are my goals after this? How can I improve upon being a peon in large corporate entity? After experiencing an unlikely combination of events (watching Dodgeball, staying up really late, and talking with a friend who is known only as Ek) I stumbled on the answer. Open my own gym!!

The key of course will be to cater to a demographic that isn't overtly recruited by established gyms but still works out excessively. This rules out families, minorities, skinny people, and women. Notice anything missing in that list? I did. 15-30 year old angry white dudes. My gym will have no weights in the traditional sense; only large heavy objects to lift. There will be a side room with rubber walls and various pieces of furniture called the "hate room." This room will be rife with dummies depicting the visages representing each of the afore mentioned categories with the added category of 'authority figure'. For music, there will be an endless loop of Disturbed, Three Days Grace, and Metallica. Naturally, this gym will need to screen people to make sure the hate doesn't become diluted. To ensure this, each applicant will need to fill out a simple 5 point questionnaire:

1. Does your ideal death involve sand, lions, and thousands of screaming people?
2. Did your breakfast this morning consist of a 2x4 piece of lumbar?
3. Do you often have the urge to blow up the sun so all life is extinguished?
4. Are you the guy that is running in the opposite direction of the crowd at Pampalona?
5. Have you nicknamed your fist “duct tape” because it is the solution to all your problems?

Applicants who finish with all questions answered "Yes" will be allowed to join.




The only thing missing is a good name for the place.

Anatomy of starting a blog: sign up for blogger, do nothing for an extended period of time (preferably over a week), check friends blogs for anything worth ripping, make a mediocre post so it will be easy to improve.

Seems like every blog should have a theme. Initially I thought it would be humerus to feature one of my friends per week and give any stories/comments/insights I had on them. It was then I realized I had stumbled upon the only sure fire way to ostracize myself from everyone I know. My next idea was to play one song on repeat for the duration of each post, changing the song every segment. Right now, "Bad Romance" has just queued up for a fourth run through and I find myself looking around for sharp objects. Fail.