My Life is Lame

You know what’s worse than the headache you have the day after St. Patrick’s day?  Or realizing your zipper has been down all day and no one told you? Or realizing the most exciting thing to happen in your life recently was seeing another white person in your neighborhood looking just as scared as you are?

Valentines Day.

It’s a day that leads down all the wrong paths.  Paths that lead to a fiery inferno.  A place where birds will peck your eyes out and worms will slowly eat away at your Valentine’s day corpse (At least that’s how they describe hell in the bible).

Valentine’s day only results in three horrific things.

1. Going broke

2. Catching an STD

3. Getting pregnant

Now there are ways to avoid what I call the V-day trifecta wrap of hell.

1. Stay away from anyone you might sleep with: Now for some, that might be harder than it is for others, but that’s just because you’re a slut. 

2. Lock your door and don’t leave: This includes your house, apartment, dorm room, trailer, tractor trailer and homeless shelter.  Of course if you live with your boyfriend or girlfriend get the hell out, and get as far away as possible. 

3. Take sleeping pills: Seriously, you do not need to be awake at all.  Unless you’re that one sick guy who would kill to be in the middle of the human centipede and there’s nothing that means more to you in life than being able to catch the clap. 

So today kids, be careful.  Don’t accidentally trip and fall into someone.  Because nine months later you will be picking up diapers and your herpes medication from the pharmacy.

Good luck.  

I’ve been thinking, do zombies have to be all bad? Can’t they be people too?

Let’s say there’s a guy named Tim.  Now Tim is just trying to make it in this crazy world.  Unfortunately, by no fault of his own, Tim is a zombie. He doesn’t want to be a zombie, but, poor Tim is a zombie.  

You see Tim is trying to kick a habit.  It’s really been bringing him down lately and its affecting his relationship with his friends and family. I’ll be honest.  He’s trying to stop eating people. 

Mexicans specifically.  Mexican is Tim’s favorite food.  But really he’s trying to stop eating everyone.

Recently, at his sister’s birthday party, his grandmother asked him what he thought of her new earrings, and well, he bit her ear off.  In his defense he did think they looked nice, but it put a real damper on the party.  She’s now in a nursing home for elderly zombies, but its put some strain on his relationship with his family.

There is one bright spot in Tim’s life.  He’s started dating this girl, Lauren (Also a Zombie).  However, Lauren is not on board with the whole vegetarian thing.  She in fact loves Italian, something about liking hair in her food, anyways she love’s Italians.

Tim likes her a lot, but he’s committed to not eating humans, and she’s not helpful in his quest to accomplish that goal.  Just the other night they ordered a pizza, and, by accident, they ate the delivery boy.

Quitting is a process. 

Honestly, I feel bad for Tim.  He’s just trying to make it in his dead, dead world. 

I mean, Tim’s just a normal guy.  Who happens to be a zombie. 

I think its time to get serious.  Seriously.  I can be a serious person.  I do occasionally not laugh at beggars on the subway. 

Anyways, lets get serious. Kim Jong il.  What a great guy huh? Always wearing that same suit.  Always trying not laugh.  Always knowing the right thing to say: “National defense is the sacred duty of the young…and all other people.”

His death was such an upsetting event.  Even for those who weren’t upset.  Mainly because those who didn’t cry during his funeral were thrown in jail, but deservedly so.  He taught us so many things, and I thought, why not reiterate some of those valuable lessons. 

1. Beige looks good on anyone.  Anyone. 

2. A man can be named Kim, and still be powerful.

3. Large frame glasses, really do make your eyes look bigger.

4. Deciding the opinions of an entire nation, is a great way to get people to decide to like you.

5. Never smiling gives you a bad reputation. 

Now that he’s passed, I wonder what other lessons we’re now missing out on. 

1. What’s the best water for water boarding?  Fresh or salt?

2. How do they make tooth picks?

3. Most importantly, why don’t more people picture a potato carved into a penis when they here the word dictator?

I for one will miss these life lessons.  And most of all I’ll miss Kim.  What a great guy.  Seriously, one of the best.  

I hope when I grow up, I’m nothing like him. 

I’m not sure what my parents were expecting to happen when I went to college.  

Maybe all night study sessions with the physics major down the hall.  Good times and scrable at the weekly Bible club meeting.  Coffee on friday night with my favorite professor and other specially selected students (You still have time Flamiano, you still have time).

But no.  None of that ever happened. But it could Flamiano, I’ll come back for you. 

Instead, there was condom-gate.  

My parents didn’t talk much about condoms growing up.  You thought it would come up, you know.  Maybe while we were buying socks, gloves, baseball caps. 

Once when I was in middle school I asked my Dad if he’d ever worn a condom.  He got very mad and said, “Now son.  You don’t ask people that.”  And I haven’t since. 

For a long time I thought they were just little baseball caps for your penis.  I figured you could buy your favorite sport’s team condoms.  I always figured I’d loose my virginity with a Dallas Cowboys Star on my penis.  America’s favorite football team on my favorite penis. 

But, they were just regular trojans.  Womp, womp. 

Anyways, when I was moving out of my dorm freshman year, I was cleaning out my desk.  My parents had come up the week before to take home a bunch of my stuff, and they were waiting for me to finish cleaning out my desk.  My mom was sitting next to me and my dad was sitting on my roommate’s bed.

As I was shuffling through the items in my desk, I saw a condom. 

I carefully looked at my parent’s field of vision.  My dad was old and probably couldn’t see across the room, but my mom was sitting right next to me.  I waited.

When my mom turned her head I quickly grabbed the condom and threw it in the bag I was stuffing items into. 

She had sensed something had happened. Damn mom force.  

“What did you just do,” she asked?

“Nothing.”

My dad then piped in. 

“That was a condom.”

Silence.

Death.

More silence after realizing I hadn’t really died.

Then in my normal, very composed, mature self.  I did this.

“Awkwarrrrrrd,” I said while signing awkward turtle.

Again, silence. 

After what seemed like an hour of silence, besides the occasional burb from my dad, I continued to clean out my desk, and we never talked about what happened again. 

The lesson here?  Why don’t they make condoms with your favorite sports team on them?  I mean honestly, I’d buy those. 

1. I currently follow 15 different television shows.

2. My college essay to JMU was about my fear of public restrooms.  I described myself pooping at a rest stop. I got early acceptance.

3. My college essay to NYU was about cow tipping. It may have possibly been misconstrued as animal cruelty. I did not get in.

4. I received this message from a reader…

“I just read your post about taking the subway, and it’s quite obvious that you haven’t lived in the city for that long, at all. Nearly half the stuff you did while on the subway is rather ass-backwards. How long have you been here? All of two days? My suggestion to you, as a native New Yorker, is to grow a pair and wise up, otherwise you’ll get your ass handed to you in this city. Kthnxbai”

6. In the past week, I’ve killed 2 of 6 mice in my apartment.

7. I time my trips to the gym according to what’s on TV so I can watch something I like while working out.

8. I drink about a pitcher of sweet tea every other day.

9. I’ve never bought condoms…I’m waiting for a sale.

In case you haven’t realized, I’m kind of a pop culture nerd.  I check television ratings, visit box office mojo frequently, and check the top of the billboard charts every week. 

Usually around this time is when all the charts that show the best of everything from the previous year are released, and topping the music chart for 2011 is Adele’s “Rolling in the Deep.” 

I’ll be honest, I think the song is pretty catchy. It’s got a pretty good beat. And It has that stuck in your head quality to it. 

BUT. I don’t exactly understand what it means, Rolling in the Deep that is. 

Did she fall into a ditch?  Dive into the deep end of a pool? Roll down a hill into a valley?

What confuses me even more is that before this she says, “We could have it all…Rolling in the deep.”

Could have had all the toys in the kiddy pool?  Could have had all the animals in this deep valley they are rolling in?  Could have had all of the birth control needed for their deep roll in the hay?  The possibilities are endless. 

Unfortunately the confusion doesn’t end there. “You had my heart inside your hand. And you played it to the beat.”

Whoa. Whoa. WHOA.  He was holding your heart?  He killed you?  Now Adele is dead?  What the F**K is going on? This song just took an awkward turn for the worse, just like when you walk into a pharmacy you’re not familiar with, stop to read a txt message and then realize you’ve been standing far too long in front of the tampons.

I know what you’re thinking.  He’s reading too much into this.  Clearly this song is about her being broken hearted.  It’s a song about the pain and suffering of a horrific break up.  It’s a song about past love.  Well kids, you’re wrong. 

This song is about a grisly murder, where some guy literally pulls out this chicks heart, and then rolls her into a really deep ditch, leaving her scared and breathless (As indicated by these lyrics “The scars of your love they leave me breathless.”)

So there you have it.  I just broke down Adele’s “Rolling in the Deep,” and now we all know just how sick this really talented lady is.  It’s Rolling in the really deep ditch dead.  

I really do enjoy working out.  It’s a nice time to clear my head.  Solve problems like world hunger, homelessness, and what I should eat for dinner (Usually some chinese food, a gallon of sweet tea and a Mcflurry), which I guess just solves my hunger problems. 

Anyways, while I’ve been working out, I’ve noticed some very distinct types of people at the gym.

The Bros: You know, the two guys lifting really heavy weights while talking about that hot chick from the bar last weekend “that I totally did…twice…while her friend watched.”

The Asian Business Guy: This guy is always talking business on his cell phone, while working out.  Although one time, while showering at the gym, the guy in the stall next to me was talking in the shower, either to himself or on his bluetooth, either of which are not ok. 

The Dumb College Girl: This is how she works out.  She’s on the treadmill, walking, hair up, talking on her cell phone.

“Hey.”

“Nothing, I’m at the gym.”

“She’s a total, total bitch, you know.”

“That noise is the treadmill.”

“Please.  My butt is sooooo big.”

“I come here like 3, 4 times a week.”

“We totally hooked up this weekend.”

“I just can’t do yoga, it’s like, weird.”

The Old Rich Woman Paying for a Personal Trainer: She’s the old lady who hasn’t lifted a finger in her life, and now has the urge to work out, and wants a young hot guy to tell her how to do it.  Unfortunately young hot guy can’t do anything from keeping her arms from jiggling, and she just complains the whole time about how heavy 5lbs is. 

The Scary Buff Guy: You know this guy.  The one that’s muscles are bigger than TOs ego and walks around the gym looking like he wants to murder someone.  The guy you actively try to now make eye contact with because you don’t want to be made into the part where you put your feet on the leg press. 

The Guy who Acts Like he’s Having Sex while Lifting: For some strange reason this guy doesn’t know the difference between lifting weights and having sex. 

“Ohhhhhh yeaaaa.”

“UGHHHHHHHH!”

“ONE MOOOOOOORE.” 

I fall into none of these categories, unless you create an awkward skinny guy, who can’t seem to put on muscle, but tries day in and day out anyways. Then that’d be me. 

Since moving to this great city, I’ve acquired quite a few nicknames, and I felt it appropriate to share some of these nicknames with you. 

-Sweet little southern boy

-MJ

-Matty J

-Tucker Carlson

-Tucker

-Idiot

-Vermont ( Because that’s where my boss thinks I’m from, I’ve let it go on too long to correct him.)

-Vermy

-Virginia

-West Virginia

-Goat F**ker

-White guy

-Attractive

-That guy with nice hair

1. On my first hour of Christmas I woke up at 5am to go to work.

2. On my second hour of Christmas, (Which is actually 10 hours) I went to work waiting tables.

3. On my Third hour of Christmas, I opened up a gift my parents had sent me.  It was a bar of soap made especially for back acne. Woof.

4. On my fourth hour of Christmas, like an old elderly woman, you know the kind that makes a big pot of stew in hopes that her children come over but then they never do, I made a big pot of homemade chicken noodle soup.

5. On my fifth hour of Christmas, I then ate, the entire pot of chicken noodle soup.

6. On my sixth hour of Christmas I opened another gift from my parents.  This one was a book.  The story involved the narrator, with the help of the Christmas spirit, trying to figure out what was missing from Christmas.  The last page read: “And that’s when I got it.  That’s when I knew! The thing that was missing from Christmas was you!”

7. On my seventh hour of Christmas, I spent the hour feeling guilty for not being home for Christmas. Mission accomplished Mom. 

8. On my eighth hour of Christmas, I drank a bottle of wine my Aunt gave me.  It was good until…

9. On my ninth hour of Christmas, I got sick. 

10. On my tenth hour of Christmas, I opened up another gift from my parents.  Tooth Paste.  I then used it. 

11. On my eleventh hour of Christmas, I listened to a Hispanic family yell at each other in the street. This made me really miss home. 

12. And on the twelfth hour of Christmas, I passed out…at 9 p.m….and woke up 13 hours later. 

Merry Christmas Everyone.  Thanks for reading. 

Since moving to NYC several things have happened to me on the subway that are, well, just not normal.  

1. Once the train started moving and I wasn’t ready, which resulted in me falling backwards onto passengers behind me. 

2. While waiting for a train at 5 am in Union Square on a weekend, I got in a fight with someone about a sandwich I’d bought at Walgreens. Guy said it was his.  It was not. I ate it to prove it. 

3. Black guy said he was my uncle. 

4. Accidentally grabbed a lady’s boob while trying to steady myself when a train took off. 

5. Got kicked off a train because someone in my car puked.

6. A guy without legs held up a cup and asked for a leg up in life.  A snickered.  And then realized it wasn’t a joke. 

7. I fell asleep while riding home from work.  I woke up and my head was on the person next to me.  He was not pleased. 

8. While returning home late from work, I felt uncomfortable on the subway.  So to stay safe I swayed back and forth and talked to myself.  Within minutes everyone else was trying not to make eye contact with me.  As Yoda would say, “Home safe I made.”