Dreams

You know the general rule that you shouldn't share dreams with people even if you think they are really funny and/or interesting because somehow the humor/intrigue just doesn't translate?  Well, if you have a dream where you're on vacation in Paris with your family and you run into your friend and his family while you're there and your friend, his father and his older brother are all wearing matching tight, fitted, black turtlenecks and gigantic (like toilet seat size) white berets, you can, and should, break this rule.

Don't do me any favors

No, seriously, don't do me any favors.  I like people who do nice things.  I hate people who do favors.  You know what the difference is?  People who do "favors" tend to bring them up later on or they'll even let you know that you owe them while they're doing the favor for you, like "Hey, remember I did you a favor."  Excuse me, no, I won't.  I actually would have, but I have this weird kind of amnesia that's triggered by rudeness.  And now I will actually forget anything nice you've ever done for me, and may even forget that I like you at all.  

Really though, it's so bad to do something nice for people and then bring it up later on.  You're supposed to do nice things for people to make them feel good and you're definitely not supposed to expect anything in return.  What, you ask, are you supposed to do if they end up being total assholes to you after you bought them a new car?  Nothing, actually.  Certainly don't bring up the fact that you bought them a car.  Unless you want to be just as big of an asshole as they are.  Aside from the fact that it's super annoying to hear somebody do this, did you know that in some religions if you do a good deed you get a reward from God but if you mention the good deed after you've done it it's cancelled out?  

Do nice things for people because it's the right thing to do.  Do it to make them feel happy.  Do it to help them out.  Heck, do it even because it makes you feel good.  But don't do it so you can hold it over their heads later on.  That's really messed up.  Take note: remember when George Costanza bought a salad for Elaine and his girlfriend ends up taking credit for the purchase and he freaks out?  If you can in any way take George Costanza as a role model for how you want to behave, I tip my hat to you, sir.  But you're better off holding him up as an example of how you don't want to act.  That's actually one of my baseline rules of life:  If George Costanza did it, I probably shouldn't.  I admit, this incidence is a bit more complex to deconstruct, but the basic principle still applies: he did something nice, so somebody else got thanked for it, just let it go.  Know that the Universe is well aware of what you did and if you want those Karma points, you'd better keep your mouth shut.  

Man, this is kind of hard to remember, I know.  Especially after you take into account that people tend to be pretty thankless anyway, then add to it they do something to piss you off after you did something cool for them.  Yeah.  But if maybe you should check with yourself before you do the cool thing and say "Hmm, would the possible outcome that this person will be totally ungrateful and perhaps even a dick after I do this very nice thing for them turn me into a blithering mess of rage?"  If the answer is yes, don't even bother doing something nice.  It's not worth finding out.

My President is Black

I just wanted to take a little time to reflect on what a major deal it is that a person of mixed race (or anything other than pure whitey) is our president.  I feel like there are a lot of people out there kind of overlooking the fact that this is an enormous step forward, mostly because they want to deny that racism still exists other than in the context of the KKK or other blatantly prejudiced organizations.  It's out there people, it's in your school, at your work, on your television, in your home, in your face.  The problem is, it's in what people view as innocuous forms, so they see no harm in it, it's not overtly aggressive or hateful, it may not even be overtly racist.  Honestly, I was afraid that Obama's being African-American, or even more horrifyingly suspect Muslim, would stop many people from voting for the most intelligent, well-meaning, and (let's just say it) dead sexy candidate we've had in, well, American history.  Ask anyone who was around for it, they haven't seen this type of enthusiasm over a new president taking office since John Kennedy, and personally I think Obama is much handsomer.  I was afraid, though, that people would not be able to see past the color of his skin, and they wouldn't vote for him because of it.  And I was afraid to watch the inauguration.  I did, but with my eyes averted the whole time, because I was afraid some psycho or group of psychos would set off a bomb or something before he had the chance to take the oath of office.  "A colored in the white house? Not on my watch."  And I'm sure there were plenty of assholes sitting at home thinking this, thankfully they couldn't get it together enough to do anything about it, probably because they had to make it to a rally about how the Mexicans are taking all our jobs and how they're sick of having to pay for everyone's life through the liberal government's entitlement programs.  This is an enormous step.   Like the biggest thing to happen since the end of segregation.  You could even say that it's the last place to be de-segregated, the white house that is.  I knew it would happen someday, but I didn't expect it to happen in my time.  A black man in the white house and he's not waiting on anyone?!  It's the first time in my life I can say I'm proud to be an American.  Even though we still have a long way to go (like to the moon and back) before we can say we're doing the right thing, this is a good start.  

Vomit Showers

I had a really bizarre dream last night where I was hanging out with these drunk people and they were puking all over themselves.  I mean ALL over themselves, like head to toe, covered in puke, like vomit showers.  Just thought I'd share.

More Head-F@#$&%*! Please!

Just insert dick into ear and let mind-fucking commence!  

I like to wake up to a fresh glass of intensely emotional e-mail from ex-lover whom you haven't heard from in a year mentioning, among other things, how they still love you, would do anything to be with you again and do it all different this time, how good you feel and are like no one else, and won't you please please let them know how you feel so you respond in kind admitting that yes, you too still have feelings for them (not something you would have gone advertising since you were trying to let them get on with their life as you were trying to get on with yours) then they drop by when they're in town to hang out with you and in passing mention their girlfriend.  Mmmmm!  Tastes delicious served hot or cold, and chalk full of vitamins and minerals that are so hard to find anywhere else like Bitter Shame and Embarrassment and Vitamin I'm a Huge Sucker.  And let's not forget Why do I Always do Shit Like This?  Sure, you can get these essential supplements other places, but it never tastes quite as wholesomely degrading as in a big, ice cold glass of emotional vulnerability.  I just can't get enough of this shit!

'Cause tonight we're gonna party like our name is Michael Phelps

Would everyone just step off Michael Phelps's balls for a minute?  Stop being so angry at the guy for smoking a little pot.  I never heard about him driving drunk and getting a DUI until this footage of him smoking a water bong shows up on the internet (by the way, Phelps, might want to re-think the tool-ass friend who actually is going to take a picture of you doing that and then post it on the internet, what a dick (also, why did you cop to it?  say it's not you, say it's a digitally enhanced photo with a CGI bong, it worked for R. Kelly)).  Sure, hop behind the wheel all toasty and you get a little slap on the wrist, but huff on the kind and you're a disgrace!

Hey, hey, relax.  It's not like he took some performance enhancing drugs thusly invalidating his aquatic achievements.  If anything, I think Phelps should get awarded an extra gold medal or two seeing as how he overcame the handicap of being someone who smokes marijuana, which, according to all those "Above the Influence" PSAs will immediately turn you into a raging loser who lets their little sister drown, ditches grandma for dinner, lives in the basement of his parents' house when he's like thirty and is a total embarrassment to his younger sibling, melts into the couch and never does anything ever again and makes their dog sad (you bastard how could you do that to your dog?!) the second it touches your lips.  Hey man, Michael Phelps doesn't live with his parents and I'll bet you money he's never let his little sister drown, ya know why?  'Cause he can swim like a salmon swimming upstream, dude.  He's an overachiever and now everybody's pissed because they have to find a different reason that marijuana's bad, because Michael Phelps just flushed the "it'll make you a giant disappointment" argument down the tubes.

Oh, god, and now he's losing all his endorsements and stuff from athletic gear companies run by middle-aged white dudes.  And guess what those middle-aged white dudes were doing 40 years ago?  That's right, chiefin' on some Thai Stick and dropping acid while they attended private universities on their parents' dime who they bitched about for being so square and hypocritical 'cause they would drink scotch and the like but were heavy about the mind-expanding journeys their ungrateful whelps were undertaking before the 80s came around and they were up and coming ad execs who developed major cocaine problems and shrank their balls to cold, shriveled peas.  They're just jealous 'cause Phelps obviously does not share their same weakness for Peruvian Snow Magic (thank you speedos) and no little boys say "I want to be a high-powered, type-A, three time divorcee when I grow up with hair plugs and an overwhelming need to overcompensate by purchasing sports cars with ever decreasing seating space and ever increasing horsepower."

My Honda was Grey

My Honda was grey.  Four doors and four windows.  Plastic hubcaps with flaking paint.  And an unidentifiable insect shoved into the crevice of the back windshield that I could never reach and was bleached white by the sun.  You took me through the mountains with no radio, by myself.  How many times did we go driving alone together?  Through snowstorms and rain that I couldn't even see through, sandwiched between two semis because that was the only way I could tell where we were going.  You took me up and downhill, you always got me where I was going.  You never gave up and broke down.  You never even complained.  Oh Judy, you were my friend.  And I sold you like a cheap whore, with a classified ad on the internet.  I'm sorry I betrayed you to some stranger who stripped you down for your faithful parts for $500.  I sold you off to pay some bills and thought I'd have no more worries 'cause my old man would take care of me, but instead he quit his job because he was an asshole.  Or maybe that guy loved you and fixed you up, retooled you, tricked you out real nice, put in hydraulics and you're rollin' on dubs in a Honda Paradise.  And if I get to Heaven, you're the first car I'll drive, right after I drive my very first car the Plymouth Grand Voyager from 1989, the one I used to take out the back seats of and throw in like 8 of my friends and we'd go party, the one all the other kids at high school probably made fun of me for driving but it never even occurred to me that they would because I thought it was the baddest-ass car ever (and it was)...right after that I'm gonna drive you, just you and me by ourselves, just like old times.  Oh Judy, you had such great pickup, especially for a little 4-cylinder, I'd like to kiss the wonderful Japanese man that assembled you with such skill.  You could hit 100 with not even a cough, girl.  Oh girl, you were my friend.  I loved you and I love you still.  I need you now and I needed you then.  I should have kept you and we could've run away together, somewhere where no one would have ever found us.  Maybe I would've airbrushed a dove with an olive leaf on your hood, or those super hot "Azteca" girls and "Viva la Raza" and a spoiler and we could've been super cool together somewhere in California.  I will never love another car the way I loved you and to tell you the truth the car I own right now can really suck it.  Oh Judy, I'm the only one who knows how to open and lock and unlock you, and open up your trunk.  We know each other's secrets and I know you loved me too 'cause you came back to me even after you got stolen and I didn't know your VIN number and the police officer who took the report laughed at me like no one would ever find you.  But you came back because you loved me, and I never judged you for that weird smell that you got after the impound lot left your windows down for two days in the North Carolina monsoon rain.  Judy, I know you're out there somewhere, strong and free on the open road and I know we'll be together again someday.  Just wait for me with the right slant on the driver's seat and I'll be there in a while.

Things Beyonce and I agree on

As I'm sure you'd imagine, the category of things which Beyonce and I agree on is rather small.  For instance, if you can't pay my bills that doesn't necessarily mean we can't chill, likewise if I were a boy, I would not turn off my phone and tell everyone it was broken, I'd probably answer it in the middle of getting a blowjob so everyone would know what a pimp I was and I don't even know how to "get me bodied" whatever that means.  But one thing I can get with her on is that if you liked it, you should've put a ring on it.  Son of a Bitch! If you're with someone for like five years or something and they break up with you, don't pull out the "But I was going to marry you card"...give me a break.  Listen, I never would break up with someone because they weren't popping the question fast enough, but I don't want to hear that bullshit if we've been together for a while and the last time I mentioned marriage you screamed at me to stop talking about it and that was a year and a half ago.  Whatever reason I have for breaking up with you, you can bet your ass I've thought it over and that weak emotional blackmail is not going to work.  It might for one second soften my resolve, but rest assured, I will be going through with the break up.  You liked it the way it was, admit it.  You got to have all the benefits of marriage, and none of the responsibilities and commitments.  You wanted your foot in the door the whole time just in case, you wanted to have an easy out for your self, but what you never expected was for me to be the one making for the exit.  You thought you had me, you thought you were safe because you knew I wanted to marry you so you thought I wasn't going anywhere.  But now you're getting dropped and you're pouting about it.  Listen, what's really going to help your case if you "like it" isn't actually putting a ring on "it", what's really going to help you out here is not being an asshole.  If you "like it" don't give "it" a reason to leave you, instead give "it" many reasons to stay.  But seriously, once "it" decides to move on with "its" life just let "it" go.  You had your chance, Broseph.

Post Post Script

I am very vocal about having headaches, backaches, and being tired.  I don't actuallly want anyone's sympathy, verbalizing it helps me not think about it.  In the future I plan on NOT doing this so as not to look like Captain Douchebag (or any of his friends).  You still may not say "Welcome to my world".

Post Script

Given the current economic climate I wanted to add that if you actually ARE broke (not can't-afford-tickets-to-the-Radiohead-concert-after-I-spent-five-out-of-the-seven-nights-of-the-week-at-the-bar broke or even have-to-decide-between-beer-and-cigarettes broke), like getting evicted broke, then you may complain without looking like Captain Douchebag.

Dude don't say that shit

Listen, I just want to tell you this, if somebody says something like "My head hurts," or "I'm broke," or "I'm really upset that my zebra print vinyl suit is no longer en vogue," don't say "Welcome to my world" as a response.  It's fucking obnoxious.  Oh gee, really?  This is actually YOUR world?  You love that zebra print suit so much that you constructed and now rule a world dedicated to lamenting it's passing out of fashion?  And you're actually going to be gracious enough to WELCOME me to your world even though you've obviously cornered the market on this one?  Man, you sure are sweet.

No, dude, it's not cute, it's not funny, it's not even remotely NOT impolite to say "Welcome to my world" unless you're actually welcoming someone into your secret basement room you've plastered floor to ceiling with supersweet comic book graphics of your own imagining, design and illustration, in that case say "Welcome to my world" in a super creepy way as you shut the door behind them.  In any other case, don't say it.  Just politely commiserate with the person, e.g.:  "Man, I'm totally broke" potential response: "Dude, that sucks" or even just "Dude" will suffice without making you look like a totally narcissistic dicknose.  You don't even have to be super sympathetic, just don't turn it into something about YOU.  You know why this is such an unacceptable thing to say?  Because the implication is basically "yeah, I don't really want to hear about it because I've got it way worse than you.  Let's talk about MY problems instead."  That is your lesson to learn.  

My lesson:

On the flip side of this- don't complain.  No one wants to hear it.  Did you ever notice how those "Make-a-Wish" kids walk around with their terminal conditions and never say anything about how bad they've got it but smile and act all grateful and stuff and then everyone acts like they're these incredible courageous heroic special people?  It's because they are.  Because they're facing their own mortality and they're not sitting around bitching about it 24/7 but they're being all nice to other people and appreciative and stuff.  Is being broke a terminal illness?  is having a headache (people with inoperable brain tumors need not mull this one over)?  You're the one bitching about that's most likely going to end in you NOT dying from it.  You're a lot cooler when you suffer in silence.