Archive for November, 2007

I am a loser. Real life and work and computer problems prevented me from my goal of writing 50,000 words in a month. I'm still committed to writing it, though, but I realize that I have no choice but to do it at a pace consistent with someone who's busy 80-90 hours of the week.

So we know that I'm a loser, but I'm not alone. Let's talk about some of the other losers out there, thereby making me feel better about my loserness!

• If you're a young, single man who is not hideous looking, hiring a masseuse to come to your house, massage you and give you a happy ending is only one step away from hiring a hooker. Guess what? You're a loser!
• If you are a disabled shut-in who disagrees with someone and the way that you show your disagreement is by petty, personal attacks, instead of actually using logic or reason, and if you have no ability to form a cohesive discussion of your beliefs without resorting to acting like a second grader, you're a loser!
• If you get excited by watching a team of felons and felons-to-be carry a ball around a field or court, and you support that team because of some random geographic boundaries, you're a loser!
• If you're a white trash reject who doesn't believe in marriage but believes in putting another mouth on welfare while you sit around with your Nazi friends and smoke pot, you're a loser!
• If you have ever watched American Idol, America's Next Top Model, Dancing with the Stars, or Survivor, you're a loser!
• If you make sweeping generalizations about anyone, ever, you're a loser!
• If you're a Southern-bred silver spoon-fed spoiled child who just followed in your dad's footsteps to be one of the worst world leaders in history, you're a loser!
• If you're a large bald man who got sick by letting his nephew stick his dirty, disgusting hands in your mouth, you're a loser!
• If you watch and laugh at "According to Jim", you're a loser!
• If you're a freaky pseudo-incestual bisexual who stole your husband from a wholesome person, and then forced him to adopt tons of children from different countries, you're a loser!
• If you don't have a doctorate, you're a loser!
• If you think just because you have a juris doctorate, you're a doctor, you're a loser!
• If you don't comment on this post, you're a loser!

See? There's a little bit of loser in all of us. I feel much better now.

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Nothing substantive today – just some things purloined from Youtube:

So, as most of you know, I go in every week for a shave and a haircut at my barber's. My first experience was awesome, but then I had a clowning experience, and of course, there was the photo opportunity when I had my eyebrows waxed.

Then, there was the time that I really felt like an asshole. I've linked it, but the relevant text is here:

Wednesday, after going to my barber's for my weekly trim and shave, was when I reached the realization that I am indeed an asshole. I walked into the barber's and immediately noticed that my usual barber, Raul, wasn't there. I asked the owner where he is, and she says, "Oh. Well, he's in the hospital right now. They found out that he might have lymphoma."

"That's horrible," I said. "Who's going to cut my hair and shave me?"

She gave me a slightly strange look. "Natalia is going to do it today. So, about Raul. Would you like his phone number? Some of his regulars are checking in on him and sending flowers or something."

On the inside, I'm thinking furiously. What the fuck can I say to that other than "Okay"? I don't want his fucking phone number – I'm not going to call my barber who might have cancer and make small talk! Maybe I'd send him something at the hospital, if he wasn't just my fucking barber! But there was no real answer I could give that would get me off the hook, so I shrugged and said "Sure. Maybe I can send him something."

Two days later, and I still haven't sent him something. If he doesn't die and actually comes back to work, I'll ask him if he got the nice arrangement that I had sent up, and when he says, "No," I'll blame the hospital and the old lady volunteers working the gift shop. But, in the end, and this is the REALLY asshole thing, I'm almost hoping that he doesn't come back so I don't have to worry about it.

Well, Raul made a full recovery, and returned to the barbershop. By that point, though, I had switched over to the owner and had no interest in having Raul do my shave. He was unreliable, and missed random days, had problems getting to work, and just went from being a meticulous, amazing barber to someone that I really didn't want holding a blade to my throat.

He's from Puerto Rico, and Cori, the owner, kept joking with him, every time he was there, about going back to Puerto Rico where his car would be top of the line and he'd have more money than most people, and Raul would joke with her about it, but you got the sense that he was serious, and one day he was just going to up and disappear and go back to Puerto Rico.

Yesterday, after getting my shave, and setting up my appointment for next week, I notice that Raul isn't in the appointment book anymore. "Oh," I said. "Looks like King Raul went back to Puerto Rico to rule over them with his mighty scissors and razor, eh?"

"No," Cori said. "He died on Sunday."

"Fuck! Really?"

"Yeah. Want to send his mother some flowers?"

On Sunday night, before going to Britt's for Thanksgiving III, I stopped at Albertson's to pick up dessert. As I walked out of the store, starting to cross the road to get to where I had parked my car, this Jeep, going about 60, pulled up the crosswalk, tapped his brakes, and then floored it by me. If I hadn't been paying attention, I might have been hit. In fact, if it wasn't me, but a mother with a couple of kids, one of those kids would have been launched about thirty feet in the air.

The Jeep passed by close enough that I could feel it passing by. So I did what any person who likes to teach lessons to others would do. I smacked the rear right panel of his car as he sped past me, leaving an indentation.

I walked over to my car as the Richard Petty wannabe (we'll call him Chickenfucker Nutsack) squealed his tires as he turned around, and drove down the parallel lane, parking his car so he could face mine as I started to get in.

I was surprised that Chickenfucker Nutsack wasn't some 18-year old punk but a guy in his 40s, balding, pale, with thick glasses and a quivering face, wearing an Albertson's shirt. Chickenfucker looked like he was about to burst into tears from anger.

He rolled down the window and yelled, "Fuck you, jerk!"

I walked over to the front of his car and said calmly, "Maybe you should slow down when you're driving through a parking lot."

Chickenfucker's reply? "Maybe you shouldn't be so fat!"

I immediately busted out laughing. Tears were streaming down my face as I tried to stammer out a response in a properly patronizing tone. "Are you retarded? Special? You're special, aren't you? Who's in charge of you? Do we need to call someone to take care of you?" I made it sound like I was talking to a baby, in a very soothing, condescending tone.

He gave me the finger. But not The Finger, like someone who does it casually. Chickenfucker actually had to think about it, and then balled his hand up in a fist and extended his middle finger as if he had never done it before. Then he started to get out of the car. This big Samoan dude who had been watching the whole thing from his car started walking to the store. As he passed between our cars, he said to Chickenfucker, in this deep, gravelly voice, "I wouldn't do that, man. I don't think that's a very good idea." He reconsidered and got back in his car. I started mine up and was about to reverse out of the space, when he whipped around the parking lot and drove behind me, essentially blocking me in.

Well, you know what bumpers are for, right? Bumping.

I pulled out of the parking space slowly until my bumper was about an inch from his. Then I revved the motor a bit. Chickenfucker stood still. So I backed up into the front bumper of his car. The look of horror in his eyes was priceless. Frantically, he began to back up down the aisle. I continued in reverse and followed him all the way until he couldn't go any further without driving into traffic backwards. Then I drove my rear bumper into his front bumper again, very gently, shifted the car into drive, and drove off.

Having fun at Chickenfucker's expense brought a smile to my face, but when I told my wife, she blamed me for the whole thing! She said, "Why do you always have to teach people lessons? What if that guy had a gun?"

"Sweetie, you know I'm a ninja. Ninjas can dodge bullets without even trying!"

This didn't soothe her at all. "You are not allowed to teach lessons like that anymore!"

"But, babe!" I pleaded. "This is way better than me being a real teacher. I'm like a super professor of life lessons, with a PhD of The Streets! Plus I'm a ninja. Kapow!"

"No. More. Lessons."

So I said, "Well, think of it this way, babe. If the guy did have a gun, I'd either get a really cool scar, or you'd inherit over a million dollars in life insurance, plus you could sue the guy and make even more money!"

"Carry on, Professor Avitable."

• If you haven't already, don't forget to email me at my first name at my last name dot com with your address so I can add you to my Christmas card list.
• Have you added me on Facebook, Myspace, and favorited me on Technorati yet? Why not?
• On Friday at midnight, I did all of my Christmas shopping online for my wife's presents. I also created an Amazon wish list because I'm very hard to buy for. I tend to go out and buy whatever I want when it comes out, which means she can never figure out what I have and don't have. Now I only have a few small gifts left to buy and I'm done. It's a great feeling.
• On Wednesday night, at around 11, I hopped into the car to drive over to Wendy's to grab a quick burger for dinner. I was in a T-shirt and underwear and put shoes on, plus grabbed my wallet and cell phone. I went through the drive-through, and as I pulled away, I realized that they forgot my straw. I HATE drinking fountain soda without a straw, and so I pulled into a parking spot, got out of the car and started to walk into Wendy's. I was halfway there before I remembered that I didn't have any shorts on at all. That would have been horrifying!
• Every Thanksgiving, I get two free turkeys from one of my vendors. I gave one to Britt, but only if she'd deep fry it and invite me over for dinner. Last night was my third Thanksgiving dinner, with turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing, gravy, cranberry sauce, corn, green bean casserole, and crescent rolls. The deep fried turkey was delicious, as was everything else. I didn't get any fucking leftovers, though.

And finally:

Click the picture to watch. Have your sound on. Thanks to SJ!