Whenever I am the recipient of an email forward, in conjunction with the inherent eyeroll, there is always a mental "ugh." Because getting a forward is such a disappointment. Because Bill Gates really ISN'T sharing his fortune with everyone who forwards this. But in addition to the feelings of annoyance, I am also often filled with at least a small amount of curiosity. Not concerning the content of the actual forward, but rather about the nature of THE forward itself. Part of nearly every forward that I have ever received, is this line in the subject: FWD FWD THIS IS A MUST READ! Or, DO NOT DELETE THIS ONE! Or, YOU HAVE TO SEE THIS! Nothing makes me want to read something less, than when I am implored in caps to not delete it, or that I have to see it. I have deleted many a forward that was a must read, and my heart still beats. I have not been stricken down by the hand of God.

Is that why forwards exist? Because so many people, upon receiving one, and seeing the subject line claim of ABSOLUTELY UNBELIEVABLE, really believe that they are about to witness something absolutely unbelievable? What does it feel like to read YOU HAVE TO SEE THIS, and feel completely compelled to have to see this? Or, to have one's finger frozen an inch above the delete key (probably just poised on the mouse, in reality) unable to descend, because of having been commanded to NOT DELETE THIS ONE.

As one who does not receive many forwards, I have some questions about them. Most claim that THEY MUST BE SEEN. As opposed to what? Forwards that say, "This is of probable moderate to little interest for most human beings, and therefore the continued forwardation of this is not mandatory." I might actually read such a forward. Rather than a forward created by waddever asshole decided that such a joke, piece of info, picture, video, mantra, religious message, or whatever, needed to be seen by every single mother on the planet and then subsequently forwarded to every living friend and relative of those mothers.

My mother loves forwards, God bless her. I think basically every mother does. And to her credit, she only VERY occasionally sends me the forwards that REALLY MUST BE READ. Like I learned about how not to get smashed to death in an earthquake. Or how not to get scammed by phony census people trying to steal my crapy credit score. If you want, I can forward you those. But I might change the subject lines to, "read if you are bored, or don't want to die horribly in an earthquake." See how that worked? It gave me the option to NOT read, followed by slyly compelling me to read or maybe die horribly. I guess I should start creating forwards.

Maybe I can get monies for that, since I can't find a real job.


When dreams actually mean something

On Monday, I picked up the final piece of my suit (the jacket) from Macy's, where it was being tailored for about 3 weeks. Takes a lot of time, apparently, to lengthen sleeves by 2 inches.

While waiting for someone to help me, I was browsing some various colognes that were on a table. I'm not really a big cologne guy. I've been wearing the same thing for 5 years.

Calvin Klein, I'm never wild about. Smells to musky for me. Like a slick old business guy. Stings the nostrils. Sean Jean, I feel like I'm not allowed to wear because I'm not black. And the name "Unforgivable" just sounds cheesy to me. Although, finding a cologne name that isn't outrageous is pretty hard. This is how I feel like the conversation would go:
"Mmm, what are you wearing?"
"Unforgivable, baby."
"Ew, don't call me baby."


There was a bottle of Versace. It didn't have some cheesy-assed name. Just "Versace Man." What man can't feel respectable wearing that? Plus it smells DELICIOUS. So I drenched my chest, and went to work. And let me tell you, smelling Versace MAN all day rather than garlic and meat was heavenly. So I have been debating since then if I wanna pony up the cash and buy it.

Last night, I had a dream. I went to Smith's Marketplace and was looking at cologne (weird.) And I found the Versace, and decided to buy it. Ben Stiller was working one of the check out lines. Except for he had this real greasy, side slicked hair that was apparently supposed to be a disguise. Because I guess he liked to work there (in disguise) a couple of times a week. And I was trying to be sneaky, and take a picture of him with my iphone. He was talking a mixture of "Spanish language channel beechez," guy from Anchorman, and Tony Wonder from Arrested Development. I got my picture, he sold me the Versace, and I woke up pist that I didn't really have Ben Stiller pictures on my iphone. Or Versace. Also, that Ben Stiller didn't work at the local Smith's Marketplace.

I'm pretty certain that was the most sure sign I've ever had that I should purchase something. Also, another garbage can to separate my recyclables.

Avoiding a cat invasion

My toilet is being a real piece of shit right now.

I had a leaky faucet in my bathroom sink until about a week ago, when my landlord came and fixed it. Perhaps this was merely coincidental, but that very same day that he fixed the sink, the toilet developed a slow leak. I feel like they must somehow be correlated, although I can not imagine how he could have screwed up the toilet by fixing the sink. Although, the water in the toilet bowl was curiously low when I came back that night. Verrrry curious.

Anyways, there is a slow (or maybe in reality not so slow) leak in the toilet water tank, which causes the water level (in said tank) to drop a couple of inches every few minutes. Which then causes it to refill itself. Aside from simply being annoying, and a stellar waste of water, my life is being endangered every time I shower.

During every showering endeavor, I can expect to experience no fewer than 3 scaldings, depending upon the duration of the shower. A typical shower for me ranges anywhere from 6-12 minutes, depending upon several factors: is this a post work shower? A woke up sweaty shower? In that case, probably 4-6 minutes. In the case of the former, probably closer to the 12 minute range, as it takes time to sluice the Carrabba filth from my body. Not to mention, after standing up for 12 hours, a long shower feels nice. So, in a 12 minute time period, I can expect at LEAST 4 scaldings.

Today, I decided to time my post work out entry into the shower with a toilet refilling, in an attempt to avoid the 3-4 scaldings I thought would be included in the necessary showering time frame. I managed to escape with only 2 scaldings, although the toilet tried its damnedest to get me a third time, as a refilling occurred a mere second after I shut off the water.

I can typically gauge when the scaldings will occur, by the sudden drop in water pressure. At which point I jump to the end of the tub, out of range of the certain 2nd degree burns. The problem is, when the water pressure returns, there is still a measure of scalding water emitted from the faucet, which has gained strength enough to hit my feet, so there is no complete escape. And so I end up hopping from one foot to the other until the water has returned to normal heat. Embarrassing mental image.

I swear, I'm going to go missing for a couple of days. I reckon it would probably take up to 3 for people to really miss me and attempt some sort of investigation. And I fear that I shall be found naked on the bathtub floor, scalded to death, without a shred of dignity remaining. Although, maybe the cat lady below would wonder why my water had been running straight for a couple days, and send her kitty minions on a reconnaissance mission to find out just why I was taking a 2 day shower.

I don't want those cats in my house. I need to get this fixed.


Same as a babe

Greatest discovery so far of 2K10--the bidet is always lukewarm as long as the toilet has not been flushed any time recently. Hypothesized, tested, confirmed. Not that this means that I use the bidet for anything other than occasional, recreational cleaning, since I don't actually poop. Just like girls.



Santo obamanos

Every single night around 7, my frontal lobe revolts against the peaceful state of the rest of my brain, the result of which is a horrible drilling sensation in the middle of my forehead. What are you even doing up there, you asshole frontal lobe?

Today, the drilling sensation is actually starting early. I didn't realize this until I had already loaded every single clothing that I own into side by side Wascomatt Jr's at Rose's laundromat. I think I probably overloaded both of them, so I worry as to the level of cleanliness that my clothing shall attain. It took me about 10 minutes to cram all of my clothing inside, as various articles kept spewing out--a sure sign that a 3rd Wascomat was probably required. As long as the sickness is soaked away, I'll be satisfied. It isn't as though I wallow around in filth, and actually need a heavy duty wash. Just cleaning away the natural man scent acquired after 7-10 wearings (for pants) or 3-6 (for shirts) or 1 (for undergarments, I'm not a total dirt bag, after all.)

I was sick all last week, possibly with a swine flu (it's hard to know) so my house accrued a level of clutter and filthiness not heretofore experienced. Which meant I spent about 2 hours cleaning and disinfecting, hence the over sized laundry loads due to bed linen cleansing.

I'm not sure what it is about coming to the laundromat that makes me think about miracles, but I always do. Perhaps it is the chola with the sparkly diamond (probably cubic Z's) piercing sundry locations on her face sitting nearby, her golden Virgin Maria Santa hanging round her neck, reflecting the dying sun, splaying refracted light across my Wascomatt Jr. double loaders, which causes me to ponder miracles. This week, 2K10 blessed me with 2 more miracles.

First, I rarely get sick. Usually no more than twice a year, often less. When I do catch an illness, it is typically a 2-3 week ordeal. My body apparently hates being full blown sick, and so rather attempts to spread out the various symptoms over a few week period. I typically start with a sore throat. Then, days later, sore throat slowly morphs into maximum sinus congestion which, days later again, becomes a wretched hacking cough. Never all at once. This week however, I was blessed with every sickness at the same time, and have somehow miraculously started the new week basically healed, except for the drilling pm headaches. Which may be a separate thing entirely, since I almost never get headaches. Perhaps a brain tumor in an embryonic phase, growth triggered by dusk.

The second miracle, involved taxes. I didn't make an incredible amount of money this year, but upon reviewing my W2, I supposed that I had paid the government significantly less than what I imagined the government would think it deserved. Probably by a few hundred dollars. So imagine my surprise when, upon doing my taxes, I found out the government wanted to give me 62 dollars back. Gracias, Santo Obamanos.

Por favor, dear Santo Obamanos, please continue to rain upon thy humble countryman every such 2K10 blessing his tender little heart desires, most especially an economy that isn't tan jodido a la verga, that thereby he may acquire gainful employment.