Not Another Teen Movie

Yeah, I admit it… I got nothing today.

But I still felt like posting today, so I figured why not share my boredom with ya’ll?

I’m a fan of Collegehumor.com . For every unfunny clip they produce, I’m usually able to find another one that gives me a chuckle.

I was just killing some time on their site, and this one popped up. While it’s far from hysterical, it did make me laugh. Maybe my love of John Hughes and the teen angst drama’s of the 80’s make me a prime target for shit like this, but whatevs…..

Trolling

I’m gonna let you in on a little secret……

I have a TEENSY bit of an ego problem.

I know, I know. I can’t believe it, either!

But it’s true.

Now if you DO happen to have an ego (like I do), and a blog (like I do), every comment that you get feeds into your self-inflated importance like Earl feeds on foot porn.

And don’t even get me started on when my “followers” count goes up! Man, every time that little number in the top right of this page goes up, my pants get just a LITTLE bit tighter.

Sometimes, the number doesn’t go up for weeks.

When that happens, I fall into a suicidal despair…..I sit alone in a dark room, not eating, staring blankly at the walls, and pooping in my pants.

We can’t have THAT, can we?

So, what’s a vain person to do when no one is paying attention to him?

Why, go trolling, of course!

In all honesty, I consider it more of playing a bit of blogging-“Russian Roulette” than stroking my tremendous ego.

What’s Trolling, you ask?

Well, first I pick one of my favorite blogs. I try to never pick the same one twice.

Then, I read through the posts on that blog until I find one that has a good number of comments.

Then I read the comments, and find one that I find very funny, or insightful. (ok, ok, sometimes I just pick someone who has a hot picture. It IS me, remember? Blow me).

Then I go to THAT person’s blog, and read their latest post. If I like what I read, then I leave a comment.

After I leave my comment, I pick another hot girl insightful commenter and jump to THEIR blog.

Rinse and repeat.

I try to see how many new and exciting blogs I can discover before I run out of luck.

I consider “runing out of luck” whenever I either reach an abandoned blog that hasn’t been updated in years, or all the chicks who post there are ugly (whichever comes first).

All kidding aside, I have discovered a lot of cool new people that way. Some of them, I never hear back from, but most at least stop by here once or twice and say “howdy!”

Some even start following me.

And some of them are even some of YOU, sticking with me through thick and thin, new best cyber-buds that I have now known for years and that I value immensely.

I haven’t done any trolling in a while, but I’m starting to feel that “itch”.

I think, before long, I’m gonna try to scratch it.

Being Overly Emotional

Sometimes I think that God felt guilty for making me so damn good looking, so he had to compensate for it by making me a bit of a mental case.

I could talk about the DOZENS of things that make me one VERY odd duck, but I was reading another blog last week that talked about this one particular thing that I do, and I found it very interesting, because I really thought that I was the only looney who thought like this.

Ya see, I have this condition where I tend to associate human characteristics and feelings to non-human objects.

And I’m not talking about the typical ways that people do this, like talking to their car, or calling their boat “Their Gal”…..

… I’m talking about doing things that even weird MYSELF out.

The first time I remember doing anything like this was when I was a kid, and I cried for an afternoon when my parents decided to pull up our ancient red shag carpeting with some nice modern carpeting. As the workers rolled up the old carpet, I cried and hugged it and apologized to it for being so carelessly discarded. I felt like it served us so well by letting us walk all over it for many years, and now I was letting it down.

That’s not normal, right?

And although my days of crying over old furniture are thankfully over, I still get very uncomfortable whenever I buy something new to replace something old that has faithfully served me for a long time.

Last month I bought a new hammer, and I have to admit that I stared at my old, shitty hammer for a few minutes thinking of all the times when it had done right by me and did its job.

That time 10 years ago when I had to fix my fence……. Old Mr. Hammer was there for me, pounding nails like a champ….

Then there was that time when I had to assemble my new computer desk, and even though the instructions said that you didn’t need any tools, I couldn’t make the sides fit together just right. Who was there for me? That’s right… Mr. Hammer, giving the wood a few gentle taps to get them to line up for me….

And of course Mr. Hammer was there for me that time when I got high on horse tranquilizer and went on that homeless killing spree…..

Look, that’s neither here nor there. The point I’m trying to make is that my messed up brain always puts human characteristics on inanimate objects, and even though I know that it’s UBER weird, I can’t seem to help myself.

Anyone out there suffer from this affliction?

This post would be longer, but I’m feeling bad for Mr. Keyboard. He’s been cranky all day and I want to let him take a nap.

Putting Your Foot In Your Mouth

Along with winning the lottery and inheriting my INSANELY good looks, Mini-Me has also been lucky enough to taken from me the ability to be REALLY fucking sarcastic when he wants to be.

I heard the following exchange yesterday morning:

“Mommy, you are so pretty. All my friends say that I have the prettiest mommy!”

“Awwww, that’s nice. Thank you”

“But I have to ask you a question…”

“Sure baby, what is it?”

“How come during the day you look like you’re 30 years old, but the first thing in the morning, you look like you’re 60?”

Friz’s morning pre-coffee shambling and grunting as she walks in to the kitchen with her hair all mussed have become legendary and well chronicled, but I couldn’t help but spit out my orange juice at this one.

In fact, it was a great start to the day until he saw me laughing and turned to me and said:

“And Daddy, no matter what time of day it is, you always look like you’re 49.”

That is SO not funny.

Little jerk what with all his youth, and all.

The Unsinkable Molly Brown

I’ve got a problem with a girl.

And NO, it’s not any of the USUAL problems I have with girls.

Usually, any problems I have with a girl can be solved by calling them a taxi and leaving some money on the nightstand…..

But my problems with Molly are completely of the different variety.

You see, Molly is 9 years old.

Now hold on….. Before you go and call Child Protective Services on me, let me explain.

Molly is Mini-Me’s new school friend. Which is all fine and dandy with me. He can have as many girl friends as he wants. After all, we don’t call him “Mini-Me” for nothing. The charmed lad looks exactly like me…. he’s not going to be able to keep the girls as bay much longer.

But little Molly is wearing on my patience.

The girl, who goes to school with Mini-Me, has begun to call him at 7:00P.M.

EVERY…..

DAMN….

NIGHT!

Seriously, by 7:01, the phone rings, and sure as beans, it’s good ol’ Molly, asking if Mini-Me can come to the phone.

And then they begin to talk….. FOR HOURS!

Honestely, if I didn’t tell him it was time to get ready for bed, I think they would talk all night.

And it’s not even “normal” talk… they just usually make funny noises at each other, trying to make the other one laugh.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know it’s cute….

… for the first 10 minutes or so.

But after an hour or so of hearing my son spout nothing but nonsense-babble, I feel like playing a rousing game of Russian Roulette like Christopher Walken in the Deer Hunter.

It’s seriously tugging at my last nerve.

Anyone else getting sick of their kid’s friends calling all the time? The little tyke is only 9, for Gosh Sakes! I know it only gets worse from here, but I really did think I had a FEW years left before I had to deal with this shit.

It’s my own damn fault for procreating in the first place….

It wasn’t fair to the rest of the female world to unleash another “me” upon them.

Dog Days

The last week has been abso-tutely filled with dog-drama.

Let’s see… where to begin?

As I mentioned, little Ozzy (or Ozzwald J. Ozzleton, as we like to call him… he’s very proper) had his Royal Jewels removed last week. As you probably know, when a dog is neutered, the poor pooch has to endure FURTHER humiliation by having to wear that damn traffic cone around his neck for the next week or so.

To put it mildly, Mr. Ozzleton did not take to it very well.

To put it bluntly, that dog was a fucking TERROR for the entire week. He seemed to revert back to his newborn status……..pooping in the kitchen, and chewing anything that moved. I think that I actually shed a tear of joy on Saturday when his cone was finally removed.

Here is a pic of the Furry One, in one of his rare post-op quiet moments when he was still too drugged up NOT to be running through the house at warp speed tearing peoples toes off.

And here he is, the next day, captured here in this pic in mid-jump as he attempts to rip out my jugular….

Speaking of dogs…..

Little Ozzy, as I’ve mentioned, is a Shiba Inu, which I’m pretty sure is Japanese for “Land Shark”.

Before we acquired Mr. Ozzleton, I had never even HEARD of this damn breed. The only reason we even got him was because, a week earlier, my niece had purchased a Shiba, and we thought hers was cute as all get-out. Then she told us that the store had one more, so like a moth to flame, Friz ran to the store and scooped him up.

Anyway, last weekend Friz and I went out with some friends for a night of drunken debauchery. My angelic niece graciously offered to watch Mini-Me for us while we got our drink on.

All was going swimmingly until, around midnight, I received the following text messages and pictures:

“Hi guys! Hope you’re having fun! Mini-Me was acting up, but I figured out how to get him under control…”

“The poor little guy must be all tuckered out, because he finally fell asleep”

Isn’t my family great?

It’s so nice to know that you can leave your child somewhere and know that they are being taken care of…..

What's In My Mouth?

Have you ever had a wisdom tooth removed?

Well, I have, and for me, it was no big deal. But that probably has something to do with my ruggedness and tough-guy physique.

But apparently, for lesser mortals, it can be a bit of a hardship.




I have watched this about 20 times now and I swear I still laugh every damn time….

And Big Ups to the mom, who saw her daughter in pain, and was there for her to comfort her, console her, and of course to film her, making her a world-wide laughing stock.