At 11:35 pm, when faced with the decision between no ice cream, or double fudge browny...I unfortunately went with double fudge browny.

The weight gain is starting to make sense.

That 1 guy

Why is it that every time I go to a show where alcohol is present, there are always just 1 or 2 morons that manage to ruin it? Seriously. Think about every concert in a small venue/bar that you have ever been to, and then think about the complete asshole that was standing near the front with you, incapable of keeping his or her mouth shut. This person (we'll call it a he, since this particular time it was a he) usually likes to respond to all of the rhetorical statements and questions or comments posed by the front man of the band.

If alcohol is mentioned by said artist, (which is often the case, as performing and intoxication seem to go hand in hand) such comments are always followed by a very enthusiastic "whoop" or a "hellll yeeeahhhh, thassss whadd I'mmmmm talllkin" bout!" Or some other form of idiocy. A.A. Bondy (the artist) would periodically take shots after a song, at which point drunken idiot would start screaming hellllll yeaaaaahhhh and mightily thrust his beer in for a "bump."

I feel like, were I an artist, I would be ruthless to people like that. Because pretty much every other person in the vicinity hates drunken idiot. Except for his 2 or 3 buddies, with whom he is constantly sharing fist pounds. Loose 3 fans, yet gain the respect of 100 others.

When music is being played, if they aren't obnoxiously singing at maximum voice capacity, they have their eyes closed and are drunkenly swaying in a rather embarrassing manner. When I see these people, I can't help but wonder how they ever convince anyone to go to a show with them. How can their friends not be writhing with projected embarrassment? I suppose it probably has a lot to do with the principle in nature that lesser creatures dwell with those from the same phylum. Or maybe I just made up that principle. Either way, it seems to hold truth with human creatures.

Out of 100 people drinking in a club, 99 of them know how to not be drunken assholes. Why does there always have to be that 1 guy?



Every so often I sort of go into blogiac arrest (great play on words, that one.) I get sucked into various other pursuits, be they work, reading, bbqing, or online tv shows. And, before I know it, wham; (a calm sort of wham) days and days have passed and I have written nothing.


I have come to the conclusion that Chihuahua's are very under appreciated creatures. I was with some friends watching a movie the other evening, and suddenly, wham! (I definitely can not overemphasize the wham there) A little tiny chihuahua pops its head out of a girl's Dolce & Gabanna handbag. Sort of my dream come true, that one. I immediately froke out. And of course, due to the unfair stigma attached to these darling little creatures, this girl thought I was mocking her.

Not so. I love those little nuggets.

So of course, I began scouring the internets for cheap chihuahuas over the next couple days. Whenever I seriously think about getting one, I also can't help but think about how purchasing one of those tiny, bulbous headed creatures is, at the very least, a solid 15 year investment. I'd be like...over 40 when that thing probably finally passed away. If I can't even commit to a girl, how am I supposed to make that sort of commitment to a creature that will shit on my floor? And there are all sorts of hidden expenses involved; blinged out collars, tiny chihuahua sized sweaters (to minimize the inevitable shaking) a Dolce and Gabanna man bag in which to carry it, shots, de-wormings, 15-20 years of dog food, possible kidney transplants when it gets old and I'm as attached to it as my own children (assuming that happens) babysitters when I go places that aren't chihuahua compatible...it goes on and on. Plus chihuahuas are definitely a million times cuter during the puppy phase. A great breed for perpetually puppies.

Perhaps I'll just stick to borrowing and babysitting her's. I'm just not ready for that commitment.


Carvings in africa

What has the world come to, when a single package of skittles purchased at a gas station costs one dollar and nine cents? If the gas station was located, say, in the middle of the ocean, or Africa, I could feel good about paying that exorbitant price. And once at the counter, can you really back out of a bag of skittles with any dignity, because it was 40 more cents than you expected to pay?

"Sorry ma'am, this package of skittilly deliciousness is over priced by at least three and a half dimes. Let me go grab a pack of 7 generic gummies for 59 cents. I'll likely be wholly unsatisfied, yet I shall conserve these precious dimes. We're in a recession, you know."

Whenever I am pissing at a gas station in a small town in the middle of nowhere, I can not help but wonder about the vile little hooligans that find it necessary to scrawl all manner of profanity upon the stalls. Do these assholes just carry around a spare sharpie, just in case they have to piss in a public bathroom? Does it satisfy some vital part of a ritual to write the f word while one's bladder is evacuating its contents? Is the urine flow rendered more smooth by the unleashing of visual profanity? Does such a person actually piss whilst scrawling, or does he wait until his unit is shaken dry, before applying his street name to the stall? Somehow, Jose de la Verga, I doubt that is your real name.

While making use of the urinal at a gas station in Fruita Colorado, I was pleasantly surprised to find that some angry little miscreant had actually carved what may have been his name (or the f word, for all I could tell what it said, as it was written in that unintelligible bubble script that real gangsters ((especially ones who leave their mark upon bathroom appliances)) seem to favor) into the metal plumbing.

Being a bathroom in a rather frequently used gas station, I imagine that the vandal was probably interrupted at least a few times amidst his carving endeavor. I picture him stopping his carving to let some guy piss. As he returns to his work, he realizes that the urinal was not flushed. This utter lack of courtesy enrages him. Did the man not see he was carving here?

"Hey! Sir! Umm Sir!? Hey! Sir!? Umm did you forget something here? Did you not notice that I was carving? Could you please have enough decency to at least flush after interrupting my carving? No, no, don't worry, I'll get this one. But next time, sir. Next time."

That is probably exactly how that would go down.