Thursday, April 14, 2011

Girls, Friends and Toilet Paper

The relationships between men and women are very funny to me. Despite being virtually identical, genetically, we are polar opposites mentally. Men don't like to talk very much, normally, but when we do, we're often willing to bear our souls, just as long as it's to someone we "trust". Women, on the other hand, talk all the time. Literally. Some of them wouldn't stop if they were being run over by a steam roller. And a part of this is their inability to keep a secret. To women, a secret is something you don't tell strangers, but of course she's gotta tell her bff (which is at least 3 different people, and they tell 3 people, and they tell 3 people, ad nauseum). I've had a lot of female friends, and it is they who have caused me to be very weary about telling any woman I'm dating my "true" feelings, or really open up. It's funny because women are often saying they want us to open up, but then, when we do, they go and tell the world.
Story 1) In college, my friends and I were friends with some girls from out of town. We hung out pretty regularly as there were no classes at the time and one of my friends developed a thing for one of the girls. He decided it'd be a good idea to write her a poem. To me, a poem is a pretty intimate and private thing. It's certainly something you don't want shared with the world. Well, seeing as how I'm writing about it, of course she showed the rest of us the poem. It wasn't good. It was something he probably should have kept to himself. But, alas, we thoroughly enjoyed his attempt at introspection at his expense. Remember, putting your heart on your sleeve, especially for a girl you just met, is just asking for it to get shut in a door.
Story 2) Once again in college, I was in a study group with a few other people for one of my classes. One of the girls and I became pretty cool and she decided to volunteer a little information about her ex-boyfriend. Apparently was not ok with her breaking up with him, so he thought it'd be a good idea to leave a few messages detailing his feelings. In the process, he is unable to control these previously mentioned feelings, and he begins to cry. He then proceeds to bawl. I mean full out, hiccup causing bawling. So of course, she thinks he's a chump and proceeds to put him on blast, on speaker phone. And then repeat it. All for our enjoyment at his expense. Remember, don't send emails, leave voicemails, or write notes that you might not want your boys or strangers to read/hear, she will share it and they will laugh...at you.
Story 3) This one is not really a specific. It's more a generality that I've noticed with a few of my friends. Let's say, for example, one of my guy friends wants to date one of my girl friends. The get to texting. The guy might think that that's some kind of hallowed ground...um, NO. You should realize that she is showing me all the texts you're sending. Especially if they're lame. "Skwal, look what this fool wrote me, can you believe it? What should I write back?" Remember, none of what you do is sacred. If they're telling me all this, you can just imagine how much they're telling their girlfriends.

And now for something completely different...

You know what the only thing worse than magma-shits is? Having to wipe with cardboard afterwards. I don't understand why they even make toilet paper like that. If it feels like it could smooth out Rosanne Barr's corns, it should not sold as TP, it should be sold next to the 400 grit at Home Depot. Does anybody actually go to the grocery store thinking, "I don't want that TP, it's too soft. I need a manly TP, something that'll remind of the old days, back when we wiped with tree bark."? I mean really, I don't even understand why they make the stuff. I don't care if it's 25c a roll, get that shit out of my bathroom. And even worse are the public restrooms that have the shit that's thinner than an anorexic ant. They might think they're getting more use out of it, but they're forgetting that when you use it you need to unroll half the roll just to make sure your hand stays clean...smh. It's just ridiculous.

Tuesday, April 5, 2011

Indian Constant...pation and infection

I was out with my buddy on Saturday night and we went into a convenience store so he could grab a pack of Marb Reds, $13 btw. As we're bullshitting with the guy, he comes to ask me if I'm Indian. Shocked, I give a little chuckle and ask him if I look Indian, I know, I'm a fucking genius. Why would he ask me if I'm Indian if I don't look it, right? Well anyway, I proceed to inform him of my heritage, but I just find it really funny that depending on how long my hair is or why style my facial hair is, I can look Indian, black, white, hispanic, middle-eastern, north African...almost anything. It's kinda fun, but it makes me wonder if I've chosen the wrong career path. I mean, shit, maybe I should have gone the Bond route. I'm good with languages, and what with our war against medium-skinnned people, I could be a great spy for the infidels. What about jewel/art thief? That would be badass. I'd have police sketches floating around that have me looking like 8 different people. I guess this one would be a bit tougher, though, seeing as how you can't exactly go to school to learn how to break into museums and such and no one in my family, that I know of, is a thief. Fuck it, I'm a smart guy, I could have taught myself the trade. We'll keep that one on the list. I could have been a terrorist...not really into killing children, though, and I feel like that's part of the job description. I guess I could play a terrorist on shows like 1000 ways to die and 24. That would work, I guess. Good pay too. But no, instead I'm a fucking accountant. I sit in front of a screen all day and crunch numbers. If that's not the most exciting thing, I don't know what is... I'm just a regular-ass accountant...nothing exciting...or am I.

And now for something completely different...

I've been contemplating turning this blog into a short story blog. I think I'd still do "regular" updates like these, but I've got these ideas for stories and I feel like it'd be cool to post the stories here in installments. You know, a page today, a page tomorrow. It's an idea I've suggested to a couple friends who like to write, but my problem is that I don't really like to write much. Surprise, surprise, right? You'd never guess by my once a month posts... but still, I feel like it'd be kinda fun. Unfortunately, my lazy ass will probably never actually do it, or maybe I'll start and finish half way through leaving my fan (notice the singular) dripping with antici........pation. Then again, maybe I'll start it tonight and it'll just be some boring shit that finally drives you all away for good...eh, we'll see. If you see a post that seems a bit different, I guess you'll know what the deal is. I think that if I start it, I might not do regular posts until a break in the story, or maybe the end. Not sure, as I'm sure you can tell, this is still just an idea that hasn't been thought through fully...ok, now I'm just rambling, so...

Now for something completely different...

I had this nasty sinus infection a couple weeks ago. It was caused by this fucked up NY weather...and 14 hours of drinking and smoking. Some buddies and I went to a Saturday brunch. It had been about 80 a couple days before so I figured I didn't really need to dress like it was still winter, mind you that damn rodent had promised us winter was over. To make a long story short, Monday morning I'm sitting in the office with a fever that should have had me in bed. Being the moron that I am, I didn't even realize I was sick until the next day. But I mean, honestly though, who wants to take a sick day when they're sick? Aren't those to be saved for sunny days in the park? Well, at any rate, this is a good reason why I shouldn't be smoking in the first place. You'd think all those pictures of diseased lungs would do it, but no. I do, however, think it's a good time to toss my age old friends away, so that's the plan. But then again, you know what they say about the best laid schemes o' mice an' men...oh, you don't? Well, apparently "gang aft a-gley".