A Fool and His Bucket Are Soon Parted

So before I drift off to la-la land (the state of consciousness, not Los Angeles), I'll give you lovely people a short recap of how my day went. Which is kinda the point of this whole "blog" thing, but I have been known to talk about things completely irrelevant to my daily life. Whatever. Let's just push onward because I really am pretty damn tired.

OK. So as I'm leaving law school, I check my voicemail and see that I have a message from Kelly. Her day had been going kind of poo-ish, and she was hoping mine was faring better. Indeed, mine was. I was feeling confident as a cat, and even remembered to turn in a Legal Professions paper early. So I sned her a message back telling her that my day's been just fine and dandy, but that I was really hoping later this night that I wouldn't accidentally write "sned" instead of "send" while describing my voicemail in Operation: Bucket. I then wished her a good remainder of the day, told her I would chat with her once she got off work, and pressed the end button.

But the end button on my cell phone is deceiving because the impact of my words had ramifications that did not "end" with that voicemail relaying how well my day had went. Oh, sweet irony.

Three minutes later, I'm merging onto the highway, and I have one of those assholes who changes speed on me while I'm trying adjust MY speed to get into the lane. So I finally slow down and let him pass me and ba-CRACK-bump. What in the name of shit that is holy was that!?!? Definitely felt like I ran something over that was... metal? I quickly check my rearview mirror just in time to see what appears to be a wrench-like object richocheting off the pavement behind me.







Devil, thy name is Wrench.





Not exactly sure why things that look like wrenches are in the middle of 4-lane highways. Perhaps it had been following its momma wrench along with its siblings in a migratory path across I-75, seeking the protection of the woods beyond. Or perhaps some jackass with a pick-up truck just didn't lock his tool box down properly on his rush to get home, watch NASCAR, and neglect his kids.

In any case, I drove on...

... for about a half mile before I noticed my steering was getting shakey. And then there was the sound of rubber being dragged across pavement as my car slowly began to... uh... slow down. Gravy. Great. Splendid. Terrific. Blown tire. And absolutely no where suitable to pull over where I could safely get out and change it. So I had to drive a full mile and a half to the next exit. Wouldn't be so bad if the tire was just leaking air or had a puncture in it, but this tire was fucked. More fucked than that chick from my Con Law class.

So I finally get to pull over, and I'm telling you. Whatever I hit really did a number on that tire. There were three gaping holes in the side of the tire... or better yet, the shreds of rubber that used to be the side of the tire. No wonder it instantly deflated on me. What didn't deflate? My confidence, baby. Because guys like me stay confident. Confident like a cat. Not confident like racist slurs suggested by Paul's comment to the last article.

Quick side note: For the love of God, Paul. I know I made you a groomsman, but I'm telling you upfront... if you plan at making any speeches or toasts at my wedding, I'm gonna have to censor your ass like mother fucking FCC.

Back on topic, the tire's appearance reminded me of the end of the Kennedy presidency: shot. So I whipped out my mad tire-changing skills and got that mangled heap outta there, replaced with a lovely donut. Just stable enough to get my ass to a car shop and buy a new tire. Boo Yah.

I then decided to treat myself with self-medication. The doctor? Me. The pharmacy? Stevie B's Pizza Buffet! It's like a slightly... ever so slightly... better version of Cici's. Not high class stuff, but I just wanted to stuff my soul with greasy cheese and fart out enlightenment. Had six slices of variantly topped pizzas, two bread sticks, a slice of dessert pizza, and three cinnamon-roll-stick-sugar things. The cinnamon things are typically way too sugary and covered in like a layer of syruppy brown sugar as well. But today, they were even worse, which worked for me.

The bottom of the pan holding them was a molten layer of liquid cinnamon, so that each cinnamon thing was doused on the bottom. And on top? About a centimeter-thick layer of powdered sugar. I'm not even shitting you. It was that thick, and to top it off, the sugar was practically into being SOLID... and I ate three of them. Whatever my original day to die was, I just shaved a good three years off of that. Fair enough? Always is.

A Bucket in Time Saves Nine

I've been feeling very confident today, yet I'm not exactly sure why. Just this sense of total self-assuredness. Maybe it's due to that venti-sized Star Bucks frappucino I had after lunch. Excessive amounts of coffee must have a medicinal effect of some sort. Possibly of some kind. Maybe even of a variety or somesuch.

Anyway, girl in Constitutional Law has missed class TWICE during her week to be an "expert". Basically certain weeks are divied out to certain students, and during those classes, the selected students are expected to be really familiar with the readings and cases. These expert weeks are assigned at the beginning of the semester, and trust me... no one forgets what week is theirs.

When Professor Oedell asked what the deal with the girl was, some of her section members said, "She's known for not showing up to class much."

Hahahaha! Not sure what the hell this girl is doing, but she'll soon be answering to the bow tie-wearing wrath that is Oedell. He looked pissed. Seriously pissed, and he's generally a very cool and casual teacher. Ah well. C'est la vie (which is french for "that chick is fucked").






I bang you, n'est pas?






Haha... "bang". I'm confident that will make you laugh. Hmmm. Know how if someone is acting crazy, they can say, "Crazy like a fox!"

Well, what would be the corresponding animal for confidence? Like if someone said, "Damn, you seem confident."

Would you respond with, "Yeah, I'm confident. Confident like a elephant!"

Gah. That doesn't work at all. You can crazy like a fox, happy as a pig in shit, hungry as a bear, and have to piss like a race horse. But what do you get for being confident? Nadda. That's shabby as hell, people. Confidence deserves better. I just have to figure this out using my intellect and good old fashioned stream of thought... starting now!

Confident like a(n):

ox?
hippo?
lion?
rhino?
jackass?
mule?
mouse?
rat?
cat?

Whoa... "Confident like a cat." That sounds pretty fucktastic. Just say it a few times outloud. "Confident? Confident like a cat!" I seriously impress myself sometimes, especially since the saying makes sense! Cats are confident as hell most of the time. Just look at how they gaze at us. As if they know their life is better than ours. Hell... if I could sleep 18 hours a day, eat whenever the hell wanted, have the body of an olympic athlete, and lick my crotch for kicks, I'd be pretty confident too. Fair enough? You bet your ass it's fair enough.

A Heavy Bucket Is a Bucket Full of Dreams

I'm pretty sure that I've mentioned my abstainment from cookies for Lent, but if not, I just did. Two nights ago, I actually had a dream where I was eating cookies, and halfway through the dream, my dream-self realized this and had an "aw fuck" moment. When I go to grocery stores, I have to constantly remind myself NOT to get cookies. I'll seriously find myself looking at a box of some new cookie and thinking, "Damn, that looks delicious. I'll grab a box and- SHIT! Almost blew it there!"

I'm not even an obsessive cookie eater or anything. I'll buy a pack of cookies ocassionally and devour them over the course of two weeks. But I'll be damned... the second I "gave them up", I began to go crazy for them. Hell, I'm even hankering for things that have cookies in them. Such as the Oreo Mint blizzard at Dairy Queen. Those commercials are plain cruel. The blizzard sitting there... open and vulnerable... going to absolute waste with heaps of Oreo just exploding out of the top of it like some sort of crazy cookie-mint orgy was occuring inside the cup.

Speaking of orgies, what the fuck is up with the pollen this year? My car looks like it was vomitted upon by Mother Nature. Splotches of yellow-green pollen are all over the damn place, and while my allergies aren't acting up to a significant degree, my ears do feel like they need to be popped constantly.

Interestingly enough, my Google image search for "vomit" brought me this picture. Fair enough.

Operation: Quick Update

1) School? Good.

2) Sopranos? Good stuff.

3) Kelly? Doing good.

4) Bridal shower for Kristin? Went good.

5) Classmate telling me about a dream where he played a game of flag football against Guns N Roses? Good story.

6) Feeling like I tore something in my arm while moving a marble table into my parents' garage? Not good.

7) Engagement party coming up? Good times.

8) Kelly's solo at church? Wicked good.

9) People who drive 55 miles per hour in the FAST LANE of the high way where the speed limit is 65 mph? If I was super fast, I woulda jumped outta my car, ran up alongside theirs, opened the driverside door, punched that idiot in the face, would have quickly told him that "this is the FAST lane, you insufferable piece of shit," and then ran back into my car just in time to swerve out of the way as he plowed straight into the concrete barrier... good.

Waiting Rooms

People often take the comfort and entertainment of waiting rooms for granted. I've been to two in the last two days (once for a haircut and once for an oil change), and you just hear interesting things.

The other day, I sign in to get a haircut and take a seat. There are about three people around me, and one of them is this chick with a cellphone who is talking loudly enough that everyone can at least hear her side of the conversation. I myself was preoccupied with reading over how America sucked it in skiing for the 2006 winter Olympics when a select grouping of words catches my ears.

"A problem with my ovaries."

YES! Now we're talking, lady. This is much more interesting then some Olympic bullshit about the Koreans vindicating themselves for blowing their shot at gold in 2002. Apparently, phone-girl says that this fill-in-the-blank ovary problem is common among young women like herself. Absolutely fascinating. Honestly... how often do I ever get to hear about maladies that deal with ovaries? Like in a serious conversation, even. Because I've probably talked about punching women in the ovaries in the past (I'm gangsta like that), but overhearing serious ovary talk? Good times.

Maybe she was being so loud in hopes that one of the other individuals in the room would be a doctor... a nurse... perhaps a med student who could delve into the vast jumble of confusion that are her ovaries. In any case, I got my hair cut, bid her ovaries ado, and was about to get out of the seat I had just got my hair cut in when... the haircutter man rubs my head to get loose hair off... AFTER he already took the hair-to-body protective tarp off of me. Y'know, that weird poncho thing that keeps hair from getting all over you? Yeah. The back of my shirt was fucking drenched, covered, and possibly smothered in hair. So the other thing I bid ado was his tip. Hahaha. Score one for Chris.

My next waiting room venture was nowhere near as exciting as I waited for my car's oil filter to get changed out. But just as I go to pay for my shit, the guy says, "Know what I saw in a zoo in Hawaii once?"

With an eager hope that "ovary problems" would be his response, I asked, "What was that?"

"A white peacock. Totally white," he said as he ran my credit card through.

How the fuck do you respond to that? Here's how: I nodded as if interested and said, "You really don't see something like an albino peacock often."

He chuckled and replied, "No, but there were TWO of these peacocks. Two all-white peacocks."

At this point, hearing the word peacock so many times in a short span was getting to me, so I had to break the tension the only way I knew how. Taking back my card, I slid my wallet intyo my back pocket and casually uttered, "Tastes like fruit when you hit it... Gotta have bread to get it... Smoke all night, sleep all day... That to me's the American way."

OK, so maybe I didn't spout off the lyrics of Three 6 Mafia to the autoshop guy, but I did bid him a fucking ado. And that, my friends, to me's the American way. So roll that shit which we call life... light that shit, hit that shit, hold that shit, blow that shit out slow. Then pass it to me, bro.

To me, that would be fair enough. Peace!

Ridin' Along in my Automobile

On my way back to the apartment from law school today, I witnessed an extraordinary sight. I saw a homeless man struggling to push TWO shopping carts. The man was moving (against the wind, no less) to take his bounty of scavenged items back to... well, I have no clue where. He is a nomadic individual as one might guess, but he certainly must have somewhere to store all those random items.

I bring up this man's endeavor because some people like to put down the homeless as being "lazy". Basically, the idea is that people become homeless due to a lack of effort on their part. There must be a job somewhere, right? Must be some bootstraps to pull yourself up by, so get pulling!

But honestly, let's take a second and think about all the homeless people we've ever seen. How many were pushing shopping carts? How many of those pushing actually had more than one cart?

Exactly. This guy is going the extra fucking mile. Against the wing itself, he's pushing (often pulling) these two carts full of (to him) essential items. He's not going to lay down and die in some ditch. This guy is gonna fight to the very end. Meanwhile across the vast stretches of suburbia, some lazy bastard college student is probably back at home enjoying the Spring Break of his 6th year of college. Maybe he'll go out to a few clubs... get trashed... and spend most of the week in bed all day. Then one day he'll graduate from college and get a cushy job either with one of his rich parents or one of their rich contacts.

That's the critical flaw with believing that the poor reap what they sow. Because a lot of rich people didn't sow shit, yet they're rich. What makes the lazy rich man more deserving of wealth than the lazy poor man? I guess the fact that someone is born into a rich family gives them a free pass at life?

Not really offering any solutions here, people... I just don't like this "get a job" mentality held by so many.

On a lighter note, Deepak's away message reads: 3 blades was great, now 5 is awesome. But I have to ask, why didn't they just go for gold and put the full 38 blades on the Super Cold Fusion Razor?

Fucktastic! I had been thinking of this very issue last week. Manufacturers went from one blade on razors... to two... to three... to four... and now five. Why the fuck are they taking so long? Why not just skip to 10, 20, or 38? The razor companies aren't exactly dealing with stem cell research here. It is ethically ok if they by-pass blades 6, 7, and 8 and go straight to 10 without seeing how previous blade quantities and configurations held up.

A good example of this, you ask? Why... I just happen to have one. Pepperidge Farm 15-Grain bread, bitches! 15 GRAINS!?!? I can't think of anyone who actually could name more than seven grains, and Pepperidge is tossing out 15 at us like it ain't no thang.

Now, I have seen 9-grain bread before. I even recently saw a 12-grain, which itself is a vast improvement over 9. But 15 is just above and beyond all expectations. In baking such a loaf, grains may have in fact been created soley to match-up with the bread's name.

I mean, just imagine if tomorrow Burger King announced its follow-up to the Triple Whopper would be..... the Octuple Burger. You would shit. Your. PANTS. The fact that Burger King would skip 4 levels of beefiness without a rational basis would numb the mind. Warm the soul? A faint possibility. Smell delicious? Take that shit to the bank and CASH IT because it is assured to be the truth.

Fair enough, my people. Fair enough.

In Amee's away message:

"i seriously think that athens just isnt the place...boys here just want ass"

i agree.

Amee, I feel sorry for whoever you were quoting because it obviously took them way too long to figure that out. With the exception of maybe 8... 9 guys, everyone in Athens wants a piece of ass. Most of them even admit it.

You know what some people won't admit? They smell. Kinda like the guy who sits next to me in one class. Now at first, I couldn't quite figure out what he smelled like, but now I've nailed it. I've nailed it like a sledgehammer the size of Santa's sled slamming down upon the concrete nail that is truth.

He smells like old people. That mix of musty, heavy air with what can only be described as "mouth rot". Yet the odor doesn't come from the mouth like with some elderly. His is an aura of sorts... it hangs over him like a toxic fog... a grim visage, if you will.

Worst part is that he actually scoots his chair closer to mine when class starts because he wants to talk law stuff. Honestly, I find it hard to concentrate on a legal train of thought with that stench filling my nostrils. It just is not natural for someone his age to smell like the inside of a coffin. But maybe.... just MAYBE... that's his whole plan. Oh, bravo, smelly 1L. Who could last more than a minute against you in a round of negotiations when you smell like a pile of miscellaneous pills, Reader's Digest, humid breath, and shit!?

On the opposite end of the shit scale, the X-Men 3 trailer I saw yesterday was fucking fucktastic! I had to put my fist through the television screen to ground myself in reality, lest the awesomeness that is X-3 permanently cripple my mind. Think it comes out in May... seeing Jean's powers go into overload should be reason enough to see the thing.

Update

I'm not actually going to be 25. Only 24. Jesus Christ, I'm losing my mind.

Ode to an Oddi

I just wrote this on Oddi's facebook wall thing:

Oddi! Give me a buzz sometime, man. Peace out... or something. I don't know what kind of "fresh" lingo kids use these days. I ALMOST 25, damn it!

I am almost 25. If you're Deepak or Eddie, you ARE 25. And Kelly, you're 26, my older sexy lady. When in the fuck did this happen? When did all of us suddenly hit or pass the halfway mark to 30?

By an elementary school kid's standard, I'm old enough to be someone's DAD! By Maury Povich standards, I could a baby's daddy by now... possibly even the daddy of a baby's daddy. Fair enough? Yes, and frightfully so.

Gah. I don't honestly feel any worse as I age. If anything, shit seems to generally be getting better. That dream last night with the house full of zombie kittens was certainly disturbing... and I'm not quite sure how to explain the severed head and kilo of coke in my kitchen bag...

But yeah, things are looking up. So why is the age thing picking at me just now, you ask? Hard to tell. I think the number's relation to how close I am to 30 is what really gets me. Because 30 is pretty much THE adult age. I do consider myself an adult now, but when you hit 30, no one else can doubt the status. Even when you're 29, people can label you as a "kid in his late twenties". Thirty is the proverbial line in the sand though. Once crossed, things occur which can never be reversed.

By the way, is the "line in the sand" really a proverb? Or of a proverbial nature? I know that I tend to make up words at times, but even a man of near-25 years of age shouldn't be fucking with proverbs. Those things are like ancient tomes of wisdom, passed down over the years... possibly decades. Ah well, I'll let the line in the sand stay proverbial. For now.

In other news, Saleem's high fashion menswear is down to one billboard now. I guess the Spring Street homeless people couldn't stand his unremorseful gaze for night longer and pulled him down like some kind of ruined monument of oppression and double-breasted suit jackets.

Speaking of double breasts, Dolly Parton (if I spelled it wrong, I don't give a shit) sang a bit at the Oscars last night. The woman must be 78 years old, and her boobage is just disturbing to glance at. It's unnatural... like trading Johnny Caveman from the Red Sox to the Yankees. What next? Buddha takes up Judaism? THE WORLD FILLS WITH MADNESS, my friends. But 25 years worth of it, and it still ain't full...

Guess it never will be.

Revisiting an Old Post

This was a post from my Crazy Chris days. It deals somewhat with Lent in a joking manner. Enjoy.

This is just a hilarious... and totally joking view about Christian factions and Lent. Read on...

Chris: did you know that a buncha of these Protestant groups don't celebrate Lent???
Chris: and they call themselves Christian!

Paul: actually
Paul: very few do
Paul: baptists dont

Chris: I know that

Paul: in a normal sense
Paul: they might acknowledge it

Chris: Baptists are barely Christian as it is

Paul: i know

Chris: :-)

Paul: what should i give up... gah

Chris: Catholics MADE the religion
Chris: they should obey US!

Paul: i know...
Paul: ive met a few dumb catholics but never a smart baptist.
Paul: quote me, that's quotable.

Chris: lol
Chris: that is good
Chris: I think Catholics were a little crazy back in the day, but now WE'RE the sane ones
Chris: and the Protestants are crazy

Paul: yeah
Paul: we still make up like
Paul: 98% of Christians

Chris: exactly

Paul: the US is the only thorn in the ass

Chris: I know
Chris: killing JFK...
Chris: just as we were about to take over

Paul: yeah it really is amazing that we have only had 1 cath pres
Paul: jfk, of all people...
Paul: one with the least catholic tendencies outside of clinton

Chris: lol

Paul: you're a rarity though
Paul: catholic democrat... i was always under the impression
Paul: that more were repubs
Paul: but i could be wrong
Paul: it was just my impression.

Chris: just remember, I was all for Reagan and partly for Bush I
Chris: his son is just mildly retarded
Chris: horrible but true
Chris: I didn't even like Clinton until his second term
Chris: anyone who openly bangs interns is cool in my book

Paul: hahaha

Good Things in the World

More then a few of my postings have been rants about things that suck, which are often hilarious and full of jokeriness. But I thought maybe I'd make a list of good things (other than Kristin's wedding and Christina's baby) to show the lighter side of this experiment-gone-wrong... better known as my life. :^D

1) Upcoming Engagement Party: Nothing big or formal. Just a get-together type deal... hot dogs and hamburgers served up in my family's backyard with relatives and the like. It'll just be nice to see all those people together and chillin' out.

2) That Ginormous Piece of Cake I Just Ate: As big as your fuckin' head. I shit thee not.

3) Breasts: These are really appropriate for any positive/good list. Why? Because they are glorious enough to make your eyes explode... that's why! Every man needs to get his hands on a pair of those, both literally and figuratively.

Hell, maybe women are typically so "chipper" because they actually possess the boobs. Let's be honest here... 9 outta 10 tens you say hello to a woman (whether you know her already or not), you're likely to get a big smile and an overall positive attitude. Unless maybe you're one of those women working at the post office who couldn't be forced to give a smile even if I spent a whole damn tortuous week just trying to beat it out of you with soup ladle! But this is a happy post... must remain positive...

Boobies. Ponies. Cheesecake. Hockey.

There... all better now.

4) Mardi Gras: This one kinda goes hand-in-hand with #3. How exactly did we fool women into showing their breasts in exchange for beads? Mother fucking BEADS, yo! And in public no less. I'm a bit flabbergasted by the whole situation, but in a good way... like walking in on your wife having sex with another man, but the other man turns out to be YOU from the future who has come back to let you know that you'll soon invent time travel and become apeshit insanely rich. Shit, that just blows my mind thinking about it.

Even this weird ass guy with the Dr. Seus hat is gettin' some play. Maybe it's all the booze? Fair enough, New Orleans. Fair enough.

5) Sopranos Season 6 Coming Up: Hahahahahaha, YES! I've just made my way into season 5 thanks to Eddie, who is a fucking hardcore Sopranos fan. The show really is amazing though. The characters are just amazingly true-to-life even though they work in this world of illegal deals and violence that is foreign to most of us. I think a personal dream of mine is that Brian would get a beat down from Tony Soprano.

Brain, of course, is Paul and Oddi's old roommate from last year. The man who is the social equivalent of a black hole filled with dead babies. You could seriously feel the pressure drop in a room as he approached due to the air itself trying to escape his presence. I can just see him making some stupid shit conversation with Tony about the differences between East coast and West coast construction labor law practices. And then Tony would take off his belt and just whip Brian to death. It would be the exact opposite of flangricious... which I guess would make it fucktastical. Gotta admit, my made-up words are God damn amazing.

That's about all for now, people. Feel free to drop me a line and let me know how everyone is doing.

The Forgotten Days

A link back to my old blog: http://www.blurty.com/users/ugamaster

It was a good one, but alas, this one is much better. Adios, old friend...