I'm back

I want to open up a restaurant that specializes in chips with melted cheese and I'm gonna call it, "These are Nachos; They're Mine."

The other day...

Someone told me I should have a blog. I was like, oh yeah, that's right, I do.

Mental Note to Self

I like watching Teen Jeopardy because it makes me feel smart.

My landlord has an email signature that reads his name, then "2001 California Staffing Professional of the Year." C'mon, dude, it's been seven years, let it go.

I have a friend who has a friend named Chad who is the head chef at a restaurant called The Steakhouse. That itself isn't remarkable, but I found it odd to learn that Chad is a vegetarian.

Few things bother me more than when I have chapped lips, buy chapstick one day and immediately lose it, forcing me to buy another tube of chapstick the next day. This has happened to me multiple times, and I really have no excuse. Sometimes, I'm just an idiot.

I think employers who make their employees work on Martin Luther King Day are racist.

My buddy has a dad who is an accountant and thus has knowledge of the financial info of many local businesses. One of his clients owns three pizzerias. His biggest expense: Salaries? No. Mortgage on three properties? No. It's the cheese.

I don't get why when fire alarms are low on batteries they start to beep. Doesn't constant beeping drain even more power from a depleted supply and increase the likelihood of me being killed in a fire?

I hate it when I'm taking a shower and I go out of order and wash my balls before my face.

I went to a taping of the Price is Right the other day and the studio was literally like sixty degrees. Apparently, Drew Carey is a polar bear.

I noticed today buying oranges that Ralph's had posted the nutrition information for the fruit. When I saw oranges contain a solid 28% of your daily recommended intake of fiber, I knew I had to get some big juicy ones. I love oranges and if they can really provide me with this much fiber, I need to eat more of these bady boys. So, I bought six big ones, and the total was $8.70. That's a freaking buck thirty five per orange. I immediately made a mental note that someday, when I buy a house and have my own backyard, I'm planting an orange tree.

Fat O

My roommate Alex has a cat named Fat O. Well, actually Alex calls her Bear, but I really prefer Fat O. See, when he got the cat, he thought it was a boy, so he named it Oscar. But then like two weeks later, after examining the under side of the feline, he realized that Oscar was a girl. So he decided to name the cat after his alma mater, the UC Berkeley Golden Bears. But given that he named the cat in the middle of the Pac 10 football season, my allegiance to USC forced me not to recognize the new moniker. So I stuck with Oscar.

After a few months of apparently over feeding the cat, it got pretty fat. So I started calling her Fat Oscar. Due to the fact that I think it’s annoying to have to pronounce more than two syllables anytime I want to yell at the cat, I shortened that to Fat O.

Anyway, I love Fat O. I don’t think I really love cats, but I seriously love the personality of this cat. I don’t think she acts like most cats; I’ve never lived with one before, but I have had many other cat-owners say her behavior is strange. Fat O will play fetch, actually bringing her little ringy bell back; she begs for food, but then refuses to eat any crumbs of the NutriGrain bar you offered her, which end up as a big mess on the carpet; she regularly stretches out by lying completely on her back with her feet in the air; and she loves to lick things. No, I mean, seriously, she loves to lick things. Herself, the couch, the kitchen floor, a person’s face when they wake up in the morning, the side of my laptop keyboard as I type, anything. When Alex goes out of town I usually open up my door (that she is scratching at) to let her in to sleep on my bed. Sometimes she keeps me awake at night by the sound of her licking my bedspread. You wouldn’t think it would be, but it’s actually quite loud. It takes about four or five kicks every five seconds or so in her general direction before she figures out that I’m hitting her because she is licking the blanket. And in the morning, as soon as my alarm goes off and she sees that I am awake, she tries to get me out of bed by pouncing on my face as I hit the snooze to desperately get nine more minutes of sleep. Yesterday I literally threw her across my room. (She landed safely, c’mon, she’s a cat).

I think Fat O might be the most dog-like cat on the planet. And I love her. I’m not sure if this means that when I get a pet of my own I would want a dog or a cat. I mean, I love this cat, but I think I love it for it’s dog-like qualities. So, do I love the cat or do I love the personality? Do cats really have identifiable personalities? Actually, I guess they must. It’s funny how you figure out stuff when you just start typing.

Anyway, so my ex-girlfriend often brought her dog Princess, a long haired Chihuahua, over to my house, and it was interesting to see the pets interact. Somewhat paradoxically, Princess has a remarkable number of cat-like qualities. So how do they get along? They hate each other. Fat O, outweighing Princess by an estimated 3 pounds, just kinda circles around the terrified dog with an overly annoying curiousness. The dog acts, to attempt to use it in a complete non-vulgar way, like a pussy. But I still really like the dog, regardless.

So I have no idea what kind of pet I would like. I love the cat, but I think I love it because it acts like a dog. And the I still really like the dog who actually acts like a cat. So, if I like the dogness of the cat and the dog despite the cat-like qualities, does that mean I would prefer a dog even though I love this cat?

I don't get it

The United States Army's website is goarmy.com. I don't get it, was army.com taken? If it was taken, why the hell couldn't the U.S. Army get it from them? They're the freakin' army, for god sakes. Whenever I see goarmy.com, I keep thinking to myself it looks like it's pronounced gormey.com. And what the hell is a gormey?

I'll Take One, Please

The F6 key on my keyboard is bent and threatening to come off. This is odd, because I can’t remember ever using the F6 key and have no idea what function it might have.

I don’t know how to iron so much as I understand the concept.

My good friend recently informed me that he occasionally takes what he calls “drop and goes.” He said that every once in a while he will take a dump and realize it was such a clean transaction that wiping just wasn’t necessary. I don’t know about most people, but usually I figure it’s always a better idea to just make sure it’s dry instead of chancing it.

My back was really hurting me the other day, to the point where I was having real trouble bending over and reaching for anything. So when I got ready for bed, I decided not to remove my socks and just wear them to work the next day. My plan was thwarted, however when I woke up the next morning and realized I needed to take a shower.

What is it with Latino guys and mustaches? It’s like they are the only race that didn’t get the memo that no one born since 1980 wears a mustache.

I really think they should discourage women who play beach volleyball professionally from keeping their maiden name when they get married. Otherwise you end up with matchups like Treanor-Walsh / Rogers-Lambert versus Lambert-Corzon / Statner-Myers.

The Mini Mart & Liquor on Overland sells bananas at the rate of 39 cents each or three for $1.50. I’ll take one, please.

I have no idea what the difference between mild, medium, and sharp cheddar cheese is.

I was driving the other day when I saw a license plate that said “LFNTLVR” I quickly deduced that it meant “left nut lover.” As I contemplated why a person would prefer one of his testicles over the other, my buddy in the passenger seat informed me that the vanity plates in question most likely stood for “elephant lover.” That actually made a lot more sense.

To the person who cleans the bathroom at the EZ Lube on Sepulveda in Culver City, I salute you. I was pleasantly surprised to find such a clean lavatory.

It’s a little known fact that Barack Obama was the wide receivers coach for the Syracuse football team in 1993.

I totally made that last one up.

There are three certainties in life: death, taxes, and if I take a shower with a girl she will emerge with incredibly clean boobs.

A shit ton of hot dogs they have eaten

I watched the Nathan’s hotdog eating contest this year, and I found three things the announcers said that really amused me:

1) when Kobeyashi threw up a few hot dogs at the very end, the announcers wouldn’t say throw up or puked, but called it a “reversal”- as in “he had a reversal of fortune.”

2) the announcer, completely straight faced (sounding), called the competition a dogfight.

3) the somewhat overzealous announcer said that when Joey Chestnut beat six time defending champ Kobeyashi by consuming a ridiculous 66 hot dogs in 12 minutes was “the greatest moment in American sports history.”

My buddy Mumbles

On Facebook, you can put up your current mood and post it so everyone can see it on the "News Feed" section. This is my friend's latest post:

Jon Mumbles Reynolds is recovering from a long deep sea fishing trip where he ate the heart of the first tuna he caught. 3:25pm

How to take a nap at work

This one is courtesy of my buddy Billy, a notorious slacker in his own right:

If you ever want to get a good nap in your office, here is a surefire way to get away without anyone ever knowing you extended happy hour until 2 a.m. the night before. First, throw a box of paper clips all over the floor. Next, crack the door open a couple of inches and position yourself to sleep on the floor in such a way that the door opening will hit you in the head, thus making sure you wake up while simultaneously hitting you with enough force to knock a drool away. Finally, when the person looks in to see you lying on the floor, simply tell them, “Oh, hi, I was just picking up these paper clips.” Pure. Genius.

Stereotypes

I went to Chipotle today and got a burrito and a side of chips. I was then curious later and went online to look up the nutritional info: 75 grams of fat and 1600 calories. I couldn't believe it. Then I remembered this innocent looking Mexican food place is actually owned by McDonalds. It’s really no different than fast food. But it doesn't look like it- it almost looks somewhat healthy. I bet that place is going to make a ton of money. And heart disease will continue to be the number one killer of Americans.

Today at an amusement park I saw possibly the tallest midget in America. She was like five feet tall and clearly had dwarfism or midgetitis or whatever the scientific name is. I guarantee she is the equivalent of a female Yao Ming of the midget population.

I bet the people who hate stereotypes the most are black guys with small genitalia and Asians who are bad at math.

My buddy Joe, who lives in Philadelphia, owed me $35 and I had been bugging him to send me a check, so he did last week. Always a really nice guy, Joe included with the check a coupon good for “Buy 10 Wings Get 10 Wings Free!” at Hooters and two McDonald’s Monopoly game pieces, North Carolina and B & O Railroad.