I think I've just been had by a panhandler...

It took me roughly 45 minutes to get to the supermarket today.
I first took a detour through some empty country roads to clear my head of the incessant guitar noises emanating from the room adjacent to my own. I had to get out of the house, I didn't have nowhere to go... I knew I was going to the supermarket, I just took a lot longer to get there than usual.
Anyway, after three quarters of an hour had been wasted contemplating my life as a metaphor for the high beams over the dusty roads of Sloughouse, It was time to get the milk and lemons my family had requested of me: (which took me down a whole new path [metaphorically] entirely). The first stretch of my run was filled with me just sitting in my Honda in the parking lot of the Safeway. I guess I still had to process my short journey, you know, get my grocery legs, so to speak. The sitting was a transition. I absolutely loathe grocery shopping. It's so unnatural, gross, frustrating, everything! Finally after hitting my head against the steering wheel and cursing a few times, I exited my vehicle and trudged my way up to the florescent gates of hell. In my head I was chanting, "get the milk and lemons and get out, get the milk and lemons and get out", when out of the shadows comes this Morgan Freeman looking scoundrel sporting about a week of silvery growth. He approaches me with the air of a man rehearsed for a play. At first I get excited thinking that he is going to ask me to sign a petition, but alas, alack, no clipboard. Instead this ruffian's monologue consists of beggardries, bemoaning his son and himself and their need for tacos. He asks not for money, but to accompany me into the store so that he may combine his purchases of; 1 pound of hamburger meat, 1 head of lettuce, and 2 tomatoes with my purchases and graciously offers to let me pay for the entire hoard. Take into account the numbers of what he requested, they will come back. Oh yes, do they ever.
So in a moment of weakness and charitableness I think, "what the hell, huh? What could it cost? Ten bucks?" so I briskly venture inside, thinking this isn't going to take long, with the ragamuffin man at my heels. I head straight for the milk and grab two gallons and then make my way through to the lemons of which I take four. Then, God help me, I take a peek at the grungy man I am sponsoring for the evening and see that he's got four pounds of hamburger in his arms. Four. Remember the time he said "one"? Yeah. So he meets me by the pears and relates to me in the most articulate manner he conjure up that he needs four pounds, because he has an eight year old. I then wanted to say, "and does your 8 year old have an eating disorder where he needs to consume an obscene amount of hamburger on a taco?". But I didn't. Instead I asked, "how much is it?" to which he replied "uh, ten bucks". So I conceded hesitantly. I had just gotten through a rough day and didn't want to argue. He then set his disturbingly large amount of hamburger down on the potatoes while he went to get his head of lettuce and 2 tomatoes. So I take a peek at the price tag. 14 dollars and 32 cents. AND he got the top sirloin. I don't even buy the top sirloin for myself. I feel like I could hit him, 14 dollars is NOT 10 dollars. I took high school math. I know that much about numbers. What a dick. So he comes back carrying a head of lettuce and.... 4 tomatoes... with "organic" stickers on them (for those of you not in the know, at Safeway they have regular fruit and overpriced haute fruits with organic stickers on them that cost three times as much) .... And still I say nothing. Instead I took a deep breath; I just wanted to get the hell out of there. So I say, "alright, let's go" but he stops me from weaving my way between the mandarins and the onions to tell me he also needs some taco shells, which, by the way, he told me he already had. Knowing this guy's exports, I have the sneaking suspicion he is going to want me to buy the taco shells sprinkled with solid gold. So I just stared at him. Does he really not know how much he is pissing me off? His next move made me think 'not', because he then proceeded to whip out a CELL PHONE to call his son to see if they had taco shells. Why he didn't check to see if he had taco shells before he went to the market to PANHANDLE leaves me at a blank. I interrupted his call on his cell phone that was newer than mine to tell him I really didn't have much money to spend. He said "okay, okay" in a very offended way as if he were a missionary trying to bring me to Christ and I had just told him I loved Satan. So I bring the food up to the express lane and assume he is going to at least help me out of the store considering I have two gallons of milk, lemons, 4 pounds of hamburger, 4 tomatoes, and a head of lettuce, and no cart or basket to speak of: instead this gentleman and scholar says he will wait outside for me. Oh, how very considerate of you.... asshole. I know I shouldn't think such things, considering I was the one who gave him an inch in the first place. You can't blame him for taking a mile. But I did. My bill totaled out to be thirty three dollars. only nine of those dollars went to paying for things that I would later use. And since I didn't have a cart I had to get a munchkin of a bag boy to help me out to, not my car, but to the vagabond in the tatty outer layers. When I handed him his shit without so much as looking at him he said "God bless ya" to which I replied under my breath, "God bless me? You're the one who is going to hell.... go to hell... now." Yeah, I'm not very witty when I'm angry. I have to admit, it was some clever deceitfulness he pulled on me, and I laughed maniacally all the way home at my gullible nature. Goddamn it, I hate shopping.

Casting Mark Wahlberg in a leading role is like putting a sheep on the pitcher's mound in the ninth inning. Sure, it's sorta funny... but there are so many other options.

It's An Introductory Level Course... WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?

I love Shakespeare. Even if he was actually Sir Francis Bacon.
I've only read six out of his 36 plays, so I thought It would be fun to take a college course where I could read more and become more familiar with Bill... or Frankie, whatever. The course I signed up for is called Intro to Shakespeare. Sounds good from the title, doesn't it. Not so.
You see, I was under the misapprehension that "intro" meant "introduction". Again; not so. I have since learned INTRO is actually an acronym for Intermediate Narcissistic Thinkers Rambling On. My class is filled with these INTROs. The worst of the douche lords is a fellow named..... let us call him Philip. I am almost certain Philip thinks he is Shakespeare's lover. He has been in community college for 5 years studying Sir Francis Bacon's work. I, myself, would not brag about such a thing. And, to make matters geekier, is always on his friggin' macbook with ninja stickers on it; looking up apocrypha about Will that no one cares about and shouting it out at his leisure. Yesterday he ever so boldly interrupted Ms.D's analysis of Fallstaff in the galling sort of voice used commonly by most 27 year old virgins who bring laptops to discussion classes; stating that Shakespeare loved to wear blue tights, and detested white ones because they were much harder to clean. Bravo Philip, I couldn't tell you how many sleepless nights I've endured, tossing, haggard and desperate: just longing to know what color Mr. Bacon's pantaloons were. Now I can rest easy, Phil. You're my hero. I actually hope he finds this page and reads it during class. That would rock so hard.

Git out my way.

Walking through the mall always makes me contemplative. I think about conformity, sheep, and lumberjacks. But mostly I think about order.
Interrupting my thoughts of sheep cloning, a woman shoved a clipboard in my face calling me "mam'n" and robotically inquiring as to my voting status. Me, personally, do not care what a petition is for, I will sign it. I do not care if it is for a law that demands all children be imprisoned by the age of 5 and must exercise good behavior in order to leave prison. I love our America and love being a part of the law making process. Plus you know that the petitioners love to lie to you. They say things that sound good. They say, "this petition is to get rid of all taxes". But they don't tell you that the downside is that all Americans will become slaves to the citizens of Beijing. So it really doesn't matter. I ended up half listening to this woman speak shortly but passionately about national parks or some crap. After I scribbled down my social security number, the password to my email, my bank account number, the the three digit security code on my credit card, and my debit card pin, I handed the woman back her clipboard and walked away feeling very patriotic and such. When all of a sudden "Bitch, watch wear youz walkin'!" comes out of right field. This (I am sorry, there is no other word to describe her) ghettofied young lady (who I assume was the one who shouted at me) pushed her baby's stroller so that the left front wheel bumped the back of my right heel. I mentally paused. Wracking my brain for something to say to this obviously uneducated woman and her future inmate of a child. But I couldn't, I couldn't think of one thing. All I could do was let the adrenaline and the small amount of testosterone I possess rage through my veins and rape my heart and brain as I caught the last part of a conversation she was having on her bedazzled nokia. "Yeah, uh huh, just walkin' thru da mall... uh huh and some lady just jumps right in front of me. An' I was lyke, Bitch!". I continued to entertain the thought of strangling this woman for hours after that.
That is the problem with people like me. We never react to assholes. We just let it happen. When someone takes our parking space or bumps into us walking down the street, we never say anything. Instead... we blog.

Litter Head

My cat has gotten to the point in his life where he doesn't care where he pees. He doesn't have a litterbox, he hasn't had one in about 9 years, he usually goes outside, but he recently peed on my mom's blow dryer, in my mom's closet, and in her shoes (I get the feeling he doesn't like her) so I was asked to get some cat litter, a litter box and a kitty poop scooper. I made the trek to Target and hauled a 20lb box of sand, along with the other cat fecal essentials, up to the register. When I got there I set them on the little conveyer belt and waited as a red polo clad fellow rang them up. Then he said something that will haunt me. Not the statement itself, but because what he said would be considered natural by most people, friendly even. He asked, "do you have a cat?". How do you respond to that. There is a tub of fresh step, a blue cube of plastic, and a pooper scooper... all of these items had stickers and adverts with pictures of various cats on them. Its such an obvious question. A question that would be overlooked and even responded to by most people, but not this cynic. I gave him an eyebrow raise. Not the one eyebrow, that would have been a little too rude. And a lady knows it's a low blow to be rude to someone with such low standards of intelligence. So I gave him a double. Pretty standard reaction. And said 'yes' in a very ambiguous way. The thought had crossed my mind to say, "A cat? Oh! No, no, no! I like defecating in sand, yep, and then I scoop it away. Toilets, ugh! Who needs 'em, right?". But saying that would have just worried the poor chap. Does anyone read this stuff?

You Think You're So Smart...

People think they are so intelligent and observant when they say things like , "if everyone was successful, there'd be no one to do menial jobs". These people actually aren't smart because they forgot about migrant workers, teenagers and the mentally retarded people that sweep Disneyland.

Turn Signal

Why do people feel the need to use their turn signal while they are in the specified turn lane? It is obvious to me that you are turning that way, otherwise, you should not be in this lane that says "turn only". Tell you what, you can leave your signal on in the turn lane if I can point at my ass when I ask where the restrooms are located. And while were at it lets all meet together to turn on the hot water heater and arrest the armed gunman. Are these pleonasms doing anything for you?

What Popular Culture Says About The Demographic

As a child I was an idealist. I hung onto my idealism for most of my life. When most kids let their fantasies go, I was still playing dress up in Disney trademark halloween princess costumes, convinced that my prince (aka Leonardo DiCaprio [see left]) was going to whisk me away to his fairy tale kingdom where I would lord over the magical creatures and make them my mythical slaves.... well, last week was a long time ago. I have since resolved myself to become more of an adult. But I tell you, it's hard to do when I look around and see the majority of my peers behaving so stupidly. Do you want to guess what non-non-fiction book has been at the top of the new york times best seller list for over a year and a half? Breaking Dawn. A young adult novel about a teenage girl that tricks a 110 year old vampire into impregnating her with a half-sy demon whom catches the eye of an adolescent werewolf.... This is the most popular book in America. You want to know who has the most downloaded mp3 on iTunes, a 14 year old whore-child named Ke$ha singing about liquoring up babies and grinding against drunk homeless police officers. At least, that's all I could hear of the lyrics over the rhythmic bass, plus iTunes only lets you listen for 30 seconds anyway.

So what I'm trying to say is this; my fellow human beings, stop this nonsense. Or at least cut back. I'm out here busting my hump, buying Rufus Wainwright songs and Al Gore books by the bucketload to even out the statistics so we all don't appear to be a bunch of drunk hillbillies.

Commercial Moms

I wish every mother, or every parent for that matter, could be more like the moms featured in commercials. They never get angry. EVER. On numerous occasion, I have witnessed commercial moms walk into a completely destroyed kitchen; pots and pans befouled and stacked ceiling high, chicken juices on the walls, child/dog feces smeared on the granite countertops, a bonfire alight on the stove, and amidst the mess; a shrugging husband. Just standing in the middle of the definition of chaos-gone-biohazard with nothing more than a look befitting a person who forgot to pick up gran-gran at the airport.
But no matter. There is never a situation too insurmountable, a mess too ridiculous, for commercial mom. All she needs for this mess is one tablespoon of Dawn Dishwashing Soap, Lavender Field Scent and half of a sheet of Bounty: The Quicker Picker-Upper. In less than five seconds she is standing in what looks like a model kitchen at Ikea, hands on hips and a mildly pleased expression on her perfectly un-sweaty face. Then the aryan kids burst in the back door, donning soccer attire with a labrador named Max at their heels. Mom found time to clean up the formerly condemned scullery and found time to make chocolate chip cookies! None for Dad, though! Hahahahaha! Thank god for fantastic cleaning power of Dawn combined with the almost magical absorbency of Bounty.

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!

I can not believe The Killers are on hiatus... is it disgusting that I feel so depressed? Ugh!!
(yeah, sorry this wasn't funny, just woke up and heard the bad news).