March 31: Business Is A Boomin'

Having just completed a twelve-hour shift, the night air felt refreshing as I walked to my truck. It was the kind of night where you want to sit outside with a group of friends and reminisce of the old days. It was the kind of night where you don't dare drive home with your windows rolled up. I wanted to feel the air fill the cab of my truck and make its way through my fajita scented hair. I turned the key and listened to the engine sputter to life. I rolled the windows down and cranked the music up.

Every so often, I'm incapable of selecting a genre of music to listen to so I'll turn my iPod to shuffle and let it decide on its own and I've been listening to a smorgasbord of everything from Garth Brooks to Phoenix to the Kingston Trio for the past few weeks. As I drove through the parking lot, Michael Jackson's "Who is it" from the Dangerous album came on. Normally, I would either skip the track or turn the volume way down in embarrassment, but a funny thing happens when a celebrity dies; he or she become relevant again.

It's now cool to blare Michael Jackson. Gone are the memories of his sexual accusations and freakish demise from a young black man into a ghostly white skeleton. The only thing anyone remembers is how talented the guy was. Jackson has been on top of the charts since his death, he's released a hit movie (of rehearsal footage, no less), and his estate just signed a multi-million dollar deal to release tracks that Jackson deemed unworthy of public knowledge. If Jackson had released what's to come two years ago, I guarantee you they would not have sold. The guy dies and all of a sudden, he's sitting on a gold mine! Is it just me, or is that macabre ideology a bit sick? A person has to die to amount to anything!

When I was in the sixth grade, I found an old copy of The Catcher in the Rye by JD Salinger in a box of books my grandmother gave to me. I sat down and read it before it was ever assigned in school and I remember thinking how much trouble I would get in if my mom caught me. I never heard anything about it again until after Salinger died. Sales for a book that was published in 1951 shot through the roof in 2010 just because the recluse of an author passed away.

I could go on and on with examples, but that would just be redundant and pointless. Patrick Swayze, Farrah Fawcett, and John Hughes all saw a boost in profits after their untimely demises. I've always been somewhat of a closet Michael Jackson fan. I bought HIStory when it first came out and was kind of embarrassed when friends would browse my DVD collection because his greatest video hits were in there. Driving home from work tonight however, I could let him scream and yell to his merry heart's content because as of June 25, 2009, it's now cool again to listen to the King of Pop.



Listening to the wind outside.

March 30: The Contest

Have you ever wanted to experience something for the first time again? I've heard people express an interest in meeting their loved ones again and some people would want to lose their virginity all over again. For me, I would want to watch "The Contest" and experience the episode as if it were my first time.

I just finished watching the episode for what seems to be the one hundredth time. I know exactly when Elaine will deliver her John F. Kennedy Juuuniaah line and how Kramer begs Jerry not to tell the naked woman across the street to draw her shades. The scene with George watching his mother's neighbors in the hospital is still hilarious, but I want to experience these jokes for the first time again.

When I was younger, I read Seinfeld and Philosophy where the season four episode was mentioned a number of times. I didn't actually get to watch it until after I had seen the "Shaq" episode of Curb Your Enthusiasm. In the episode, Larry David mistakenly trips Shaquille O'neal while attending a Lakers' game. He later finds out that Seinfeld is Shaq's favorite show and as an apology for hurting the basketball player, David personally gives Shaq every episode of the series. (This was before the show was on DVD so being able to get the show in its entirety wasn't as easily accessible.) Towards the end of the Curb episode, Shaq and David watch "The Contest" which is Shaq's favorite. Watching George explain that his mother had caught him with a Glamour magazine was first seen through a completely different television series.

I never really got into Seinfeld until college when it was in syndication, so until I bought all of the DVDs, there were quite a few episodes that I hadn't seen. "The Contest," as famous as it was, was one of those episodes. When I finally caught it in reruns, I was kind of disappointed. I had heard so much about it being a landmark episode. The idea of a sitcom doing the subject of masturbation without ever mentioning the word was such a radical premise, but it was over-hyped for me. That, and I watched it with my dad who isn't a big fan of the show.

Not only did "The Contest" have a risque theme, but it was the first episode that Estelle Harris was introduced as George's mother. It was also the first time the audience was able to see the fantastic dinosaur sheets on George's bed. As I watched the episode tonight, I longed to hear the jokes and to see the routines again, but for the first time. When Kramer leaves the window to go back to his apartment, I wanted to know if I would have picked up on what his intentions were. I could tell some of the audience members knew, but would I?

I've seen every episode so many times now that I can almost recite each line in every scene with the actors. I know when each joke is coming and I know how long I have to wait before the punchline is delivered. Seinfeld is such a great show, but I would love to experience each episode for the first time all over again.



Listening to Elliot Smith.

March 29: Happy Friggin' Birthday

Everything was going great until the waiter brought out the dessert. His face was illuminated as he slowly approached the table with his right hand in front of his tray and six other servers with mischievous smiles following his lead. Once the group had formed an inescapable semi-circle behind me, the people I was there with that I once considered friends joined the servers in the worst tradition in the world: The Birthday Song.

Is there not a more annoying custom? When else do your friends sing together a song directed at you? The Birthday Song is not even a song that the recipient can join in on. It's not a song that you can dance to either! You have to sit there and take it. You have to sit there and feign enjoyment and interest. Little kids, in all of their innocent youth, are the only ones that know how to properly take it. They close their eyes and obnoxiously direct the singers as if they're maestros of a famous symphony. It's a boring repetition of four words until a name is thrown in preceded with a "dear" to put a personal spin on a catastrophe of a melody.

I hate having family and friends sing it at me (and, yes, that is the appropriate preposition) but I hate singing it at other people even more. I can't carry a tune to save my life so I've always been super self-conscience about singing in all seriousness. Most of you reading this know that I love to sing random songs, but if you think about it, the songs I sing are never in key and I rarely actually know the lyrics. Getting the lyrics to The Birthday Song is anything but difficult, but I feel like I ought to try when singing it which makes me hate it that much more.

Fortunately, I have worked for three restaurants that did not require me to sing to my tables. If I had to approach a table with a group of servers every shift and act interested with each birthday, I would seriously consider doing something drastic. The song should be eliminated. Nobody can deny that "For He's a Jolly Good Fellow" was the last acceptable occasion-based song to sing in someone's honor, but it is no longer a popular tradition and The Birthday Song should follow its exit.

Is it not enough that we buy each other drinks, dinners, and presents? We have to sing an awful song to you too? After all, it's our special day and being humiliated in a restaurant does not appeal to me. On my birthday, I'm satisfied with an obligatory Facebook wall-post. Nothing else, thank you.



Listening to Mozart.

March 28: Bad Parents

If I try real hard, I can remember throwing tantrums in restaurants when going out to eat with my parents. I can't remember my behavior as much as I can remember my sister's, but I'm sure I did the same things she did.

When it came time to order, she would sit there in silence. The server would look at her and ask what she wanted, but she wouldn't answer. My parents would then try to coax it out of her but without any success. At this point, they would either order something for her or tell the server that she wasn't going to have anything.

When a kid pouts, he has his blinders on. Nothing else in the world matters to him except for whatever he's complaining about. I'm sure in my fits of selfishness, I never considered what the server was thinking; standing there waiting for an answer while his tables needed him.

The incident today happened exactly like my sister's. I asked the parents what they wanted to eat and then I asked the little girl what she wanted only to be answered with silence. I then stood there like an idiot while the parents tried to get her to order.

A mixture of emotions started gnawing at my patience as the girl sat with her arms crossed. She didn't want what her parents were suggesting, but she didn't know what she wanted. I wanted to laugh at her and slap her at the same time. I wanted to ask the little brat if she saw me standing there waiting for her. I wanted to laugh and point and ask her if she had any idea how she looked to a complete stranger.

The parents handled the situation beautifully. The mother began to scold as the father turned to me and ordered something he knew she would end up eating. I was able to go on my way and take care of my other tables and they were able to slap her around and beat bruises into her that she would later have to explain as falling down the stairs to her teacher at school. Or they could have just used their words.

At the other end of the spectrum, there was a little boy tonight that threw everything that was set in front of him on the ground. Chips, plates, crayons, place mats, and even a plastic cup full of milk. He would let out a piercing scream every so often for no reason at all. He wasn't crying or laughing. He just wanted to be heard; and oh, how he was! At one point, I went to the table (not in my section), swept up his mess and the mother thanked me and assured me that he was just having a bad day. Right. He wasn't having a bad day, lady. He had a bad mommy and daddy.

Two examples of punk kids trying to get away with something and both were handled completely differently. The point I'm trying to make here is that there are way too many bad parents out there and their lack of parenting is painfully clear in a restaurant. When you're oblivious to the mess under your child's seat, you're a bad parent. When you say no to dessert only to be told by your kid that you really meant yes, you're a bad parent. I know I'm preaching to the choir here, but this is as good a place as any to complain, right?

By the way, I finished this post and did a Google Image search for "Bad Parenting" and I found this awesome picture. I know it doesn't really have anything to do with the post, but I couldn't resist including it!



Listening to Joni Mitchell

March 27: The LBJ 100

What do you get when you cross a 65 mile bicycle ride and a guy with no sense of direction? If that guy is Brandon Roesler, you get a 95 mile bike ride, extremely sunburned arms, and two sore knees.

The day started off how I wanted. I woke up at 6:45, made myself some oatmeal, a plain toasted blueberry bagel, and a glass of orange juice (medium pulp) and was on the road by 7:30. My goal was to arrive at the registration tables fifteen minutes before the scheduled 9:00 start time to pick up my packet. The drive was going as smoothly as I could have hoped until, a half hour in, I realized I had forgotten my helmet and riding gloves.

The helmet I could have done without, but there was no way I was going to ride 65 miles without any kind of padding on my delicate hands. I had no other choice but to turn around. I was furious, but I had to do it. Instead of arriving fifteen minutes early, I would be lucky if I arrived fifteen minutes late; which I did.

The parking lot was completely full. I was literally the furthest car from the starting line; not that big of a deal seeing as how I could ride my bike, though. From the looks of it, I didn't miss anything by showing up a little late, either. Practically every car, truck, and SUV had at least one cyclist behind it making adjustments to derailleurs and chains while others were pumping air into tires.

I have never been a bike jersey kind of guy. I draw the flamboyant attire line just after the spandex bike shorts. If you've never ridden a bike with padding in the shorts, you're really missing out. The bright colors of the skin tight jerseys that leave the chest exposed are a little too much for me. I'm perfectly comfortable in a gray cotton tank top. Yeah, my disgusting chest hair is still exposed in all of its glory, but at least I'm not accessorizing it with a pink or bright yellow shirt. As I rode down the line of cars, however, I saw that I was the only one with the concern. Every other cyclist went with the jersey.

Aside from the onslaught of vibrant colored spandex, I found it interesting riding past the other cyclists to the registration tables. There were riders of every shape and size preparing for an adventure that I anticipated being the most out of shape for. There were fat riders (sporting that spandex, of course!), skinny riders, men, women, old people, young people, and even a black guy! There were teams of riders that worked together in the same office and teams of riders from universities.

After signing in at the registration table, I was ready to go. I rode across the starting line with a group of brightly colored jerseys and past an announcer on a microphone wishing us all good luck. The first part of the ride was on a paved road that wound around the barns of the Lyndon B. Johnson ranch before crossing a river and a campsite and stretching into the Texas Hill Country.

I couldn't have asked for better weather. There wasn't a cloud in the big blue sky and it was accompanied with a light breeze. I had debated bringing my sweatshirt along for the first part of the ride, but I'm grateful that I chose not to. The extra weight would have really been a pain in the ass (get it?) on the back end of the ride.

For the most part, I was with other riders and when we approached an LBJ 100 sign with an arrow, all of the riders turned. No one continued past the turn so I assumed that the 30, 45, and 65 mile routes were all supposed to turn at the sign. An hour later when I was congratulated for finishing the 30 mile and pointed in the direction of the parking lot by a park ranger, I knew something wasn't right.

Apparently, I wasn't supposed to turn. There wasn't any indication that the 45 and 65 mile riders were supposed to continue past the sign. The park ranger suggested that I go around the 30 again and it would, in essence, be the equivalent of riding my planned 65 mile ride. But that isn't how I do things. When I say I want to do something, I want to do it the way it was meant to be done. The ranger thought I was crazy for wanting to continue past the sign and take on the 65 mile ride as if it were my first venture, but that's what I wanted and that's what I did!

Not only was I late to the starting line, but now I was starting the trek an hour and a half after everyone else on the same route. I came in dead last. It wasn't a race, but it was funny to tell the workers at each rest stop that I didn't pass any other riders and that they could close shop.

On the 30 mile ride, I was passing riders left and right. I was always within 100 yards of another cyclist. On the 65 mile ride, however, I was the only sign of human activity. I would literally go miles before a car would pass me in either direction. The countryside was grand and awe-inspiring and the cows were great, but if I didn't have my American Pastoral audio book, the boredom would have gotten the best of me and made my ride much more strenuous!

Six and a half hours after I started, I was sitting at a table under a canopy enjoying a hot dog and celebrating the completion of my almost-century ride. The ride wasn't nearly as difficult as I had imagined it to be. There were a few hills, but nothing like what I had anticipated. If you had told me yesterday that I was going to be riding 95 miles, I would not have believed it. I was anxious about the idea of riding 65 miles without any training, but 95 miles would have been out of the question.

Now I can rest my tired legs and go to bed early. The true test will come tomorrow when I get to work a twelve hour shift where I will undoubtedly be in the worst section of the restaurant due to a recent customer complaint. How will my legs hold up? How will my sunburned arms react to the inevitable splash of queso and grilled onions? These are questions that will have to wait for answers in another blog entry.





Listening to The Beach Boys.

March 26: Anything For A Laugh

I'm paraphrasing, but he/she began with, "I used to do some stupid sh*t when I got drunk. This one time, I was pissed off at the person I was seeing and I was super drunk. I can't remember what we were arguing about, but I told him/her that I was going to prove my point by diving through my car window. I really thought that the stunt would show him/her. I started running full-sprint towards my Nissan Sentra and with my arms glued to my sides, I tucked my head down, jumped and smashed through the driver's side window."

I could not stop laughing. My sides literally ached as he/she described in fine detail his/her behavior. He/she had to be rushed to the hospital, but I still would have loved to have seen it.

A few weeks ago, I had to drive a friend home from a bar because he/she was too drunk to drive. Upon entering the apartment, he/she just had to show me this plate that was given as a gift. He/she barely stumbled to the shelf to retrieve the prized possession before exclaiming, "Look at this plate. My grandma gave this to me before she died." I told my friend that he/she was going to drop it and to leave it alone, but my warnings went unnoticed. As soon as my friend had the plate in his/her hands, it was dropped and the plate shattered at his/her feet. I'm sure the the dish had a lot of sentimental value, but I could not suppress my laughter. The timing was perfect. The look of shock was priceless. The shattering sound was flawless. Hilarious. People do the funniest things when they're drunk, but I'm different.

The difference between myself and drunk people is that I do dumb things when I'm sober as a kitten. I would say at least 75% of my injuries growing up came from trying to make someone laugh and there are countless injuries bound to be caused the same way on the horizon.

There was the time on Christmas morning that I tried to make my sister laugh by finding the biggest piece of compacted snow on the ground. It took all of my might to lift the snow off the ground and heave it into the air directly above my head. In case you didn't know, frozen ice does not crumble apart on impact like powdery snow. I stood smiling with a stupid grin spread across my face as a ten pound rock of ice came crashing down on my head. I got the laugh, but I had a nice bruise on the top of my noggin for the rest of the holiday.

Then there was the time I tried to make my girlfriend laugh in my college dorm room by throwing my head around violently only to introduce my face to the corner of my medicine cabinet. A cold can of Mountain Dew never felt so good against my throbbing forehead. However, it did get the laugh.

Or how about that time I was resetting a room in my third week of being employed by Dave and Buster's? I thought it would make me look cool and fun if I rode the cart full of plates down the ramp into the room. A rolling two-deck cart of plates with momentum is a lot more difficult to stop from crashing into a wall than you would think. For reasons I can't understand, the manager's didn't find the humor in me under a pile of broken china. My coworkers did, though! And they were the ones I was trying to entertain!

Drunk people are hilarious. They do ridiculous things that they can laugh at down the road. They have an excuse, though. "I was drunk." I put myself in physical danger everyday for being a natural clown, but if a laugh is involved, it makes it all worthwhile. I'm convinced I'm going to end up in a wheelchair trying to make someone laugh. I can only hope it' will be a good heartfelt guffaw that will be talked about for years to come.



Listening to Travis.

March 25: Jealousy

Jeal-ous |ˈjeləs|
adjective
feeling or showing envy of someone or their achievements and advantages : he grew jealous of her success.• feeling or showing suspicion of someone's unfaithfulness in a relationship : a jealous boyfriend.
• fiercely protective or vigilant of one's rights or possessions : Howard is still a little jealous of his authority | they kept a jealous eye over their interests.
• (of God) demanding faithfulness and exclusive worship.

I recently went out for drinks with a friend. A friend that happens to be a girl. A friend that happens to have a boyfriend. How can I say this next part without offending someone? I have less than zero interest in this girl sexually or for anything outside of a friendship. We were having drinks when her boyfriend called and this was the side of the conversation I heard:

"Hey. Where are you? I'm at restaurant (I'm not giving details). With Brandon." Just like that the conversation was over and my friend threw some money at me and left the restaurant. The boyfriend had hung up on her and she had to go put out the fire.

Now, I haven't been in a serious relationship in quite some time so I can't say how I would have felt in the same situation. I can't sit here and write about how differently I would have responded because I don't know if I would have. Maybe I would have acted in the same fashion. Maybe it wouldn't have bothered me.

Jealousy makes us do stupid and irrational things. It's such a weird feeling and concept. It will make us go through each others' text messages, emails, phone call history, voicemail, and Myspace/Facebook history. I think it's just natural human instinct to get possessive and insecure about certain things, but acting on those insecurities sure does make us look bad, doesn't it?

My dad used to always say that if you get jealous over a girl, she's not the right girl for you, but some people are just naturally jealous. I wonder if that jealousy stems from a lack of self-esteem and self-confidence. Do jealous people hate themselves so much that they're afraid their loved ones are going to realize that they could do better?

What's funny about jealousy is that it goes beyond relationships. Little kids get really upset when brothers/sisters or friends have more of something or a cooler/shinier toy. Neighbors feel a constant competition with one another to have a bigger house or a nicer car. I'm jealous of everyone my age that has found a career while I'm still waiting tables.

Where does it come from? Why do we feel it? Are we supposed to express it or keep it bottled up inside until we explode? Whatever the case, I'm not feeling jealous of anything or anyone at this particular moment in my life (with the exception of people doing something with their lives) so all I can do is sit back and laugh it up.



Listening to Train.

March 24: Wait...You Read My Blog?!

In the early part of the year, I was at a bar with a bunch of people that I work with and some of those people had brought friends of their own. We were all sitting around casually visiting with one another when from out of nowhere, one of the "friends-of-friends" mentioned my blog.

Because it was still really early in the year (I want to say January 10th or 11th) I had just started my resolution of one post per day, but she had mentioned one of my random posts from September. Either way, I was absolutely stoked beyond belief that someone that I wasn't friends with on Facebook was reading my blog.

I have no idea if she still reads my posts because I rarely see her, but the mere fact that she mentioned it made my night. I copy and paste a link to each day's post on my Facebook, but other than that, I don't go around self-promoting my blog. I hardly even talk about it so it made me feel extra good that one of my readers was actually telling her friends to read.

Since that night, people have mentioned it to me and I'm always surprised that people are still following. I don't know if it's because I'm too hard on myself and I don't think half of my entries are interesting or what, but it's a nice feeling to know that my writing isn't going unnoticed. Every time someone new comments about a recent post, it inspires me to keep going. As the year progresses, I'm going to need all of the support and inspiration I can get. Thank you, everyone and continue to spread the word!

March 23: Cry Baby

I got home from running some much-needed errands, tossed my keys on the empty dresser that greets me upon entering my apartment and made my way, grocery bags in tow, toward the kitchen. After putting away my new purchases, I made arrangements for a delicious tuna casserole. The oven was promptly set to 350 degrees Fahrenheit as I leaned over the cutting board and began. Without warning, tears welled up in my eyes and I started to cry.

As a lone teardrop worked its way out of my right eye and slid down my cheek, I wondered what had brought the sudden sign of emotion. Why was I crying? There were a few more clouds in the sky than I had hoped for when I woke up this morning, but it was still a relatively nice day. I picked up a new library book that I was anxious to start reading and I didn't have to work later, so what was the meaning behind these tears?

I had a two-hour conversation with my parents on Sunday, so I couldn't imagine my tears coming from being lonely. It couldn't be finances either, because I just made a healthy deposit into my account. Although this latest trip to the bank didn't make me rich by any means at all, I still had that positive feeling of being financially stable. I wasn't in physical pain, so why on Earth was I crying?

I continued with my preparations for dinner by finishing dicing my last section of onion and just as quickly they had begun, my tears came to an end. I mixed in my vegetables, milk, and Cream of Mushroom soup still perplexed with my random onslaught of emotion. My dinner was fantastic just as I knew it would be, but two hours later, I still have no idea what caused me to turn on the waterworks.



iTunes was set to shuffle.

March 22: Choose Wisely

I need a shoe that will make me run faster and jump higher. I need a comfortable shoe. I need a shoe with style. I need shoe that will turn heads. I need some tread. I need some class. Something simple and something sophisticated. I need a shoe that looks good with black slacks and a red guayabera.

It's important to be selective with your purchase of non-slip shoes. There are many factors that you must consider when browsing the selection of all-black footwear. You have to know exactly what you're looking for. Do you want laces or slip-ons? Are Crocs really comfortable enough to sacrifice any and all style? Is it important for your shoe to look stylish with shorts for those warm summer evenings on the patio? These are some things you might want to think about.

You'll definitely want to ponder how your new shoes will respond to the wet and wild lifestyle of scraping queso into a trash can. Will that sour cream splooge wipe nicely away or will it work its way into the shoe's carefully hand-stitched seams? If you like pico de gallo in between your shoe and your sock, then choosing a high top over a low top shouldn't be an issue.

I need a shoe that fits, has a slip-resistant sole, and is, most importantly, cheap. Now that I have the TredSafe Easy shoe from Wal-Mart, I will be able to run food faster and take orders more accurately. I should see an increase in my earnings and a more congenial attitude from my superiors. My peers will show more respect and laugh at more of my antics. I will accomplish these things because I was selective and didn't rush to any conclusions when choosing the right shoe. I can only hope you will do the same.



Listening to Bob Marley.

March 21: An Inside Look

I remember a time in high school when a friend came over to my house. I can't remember if he came over to pick me up or drop me off. The bottom line is he wasn't there to spend the night or have dinner with my family. He wasn't there to hang out. I remember when he got out of the car at the top of my driveway the first thing he said was, "Wow. I'm the only guy who has ever seen your house."

He was exaggerating because I can distinctively think of two other people that have visited my home in San Diego, but he wasn't far off. For whatever reason, I've never had people over. No matter where I live, I just don't invite people. Even in college, where I had my own room for three of the four years, I hung out with my friends in their rooms; not mine.

Tonight when I came home from work, I grabbed my bottle of Classic Kids Burst O' Cherry hand soap and I began to wonder: What do the few people that come over think of me after they see where I live? I started looking around at my belongings and it made me realize how different my possessions and decorations are from everyone else I know my age.

I've been to friends' apartments that are decorated with real art. I'm talking impressionism and avant-garde stuff. The first thing you'll see when entering my home is a giant How The Grinch Stole Christmas movie poster. I have friends that possess canvases of paintings that they have done themselves; I have Kramer thumb-tacked to wall opposite a Dumb and Dumber poster. I have a free Lord of the Rings poster and two free baseball posters. All thumb-tacked. No frames. I take that back. The Kramer one looks framed, but that's all part of the poster.

It isn't just wall hangings either. People my age have full and queen-sized beds. I have the same twin that was my first bed after graduating from the crib. My friends have real house plants and I have a giant fake one that I inherited from my grandparents. I'm typing this blog on the same desk that my parents bought me in the same set as my bed and dresser (which I still have).

When I think of what I have in comparison to what my peers have, I wonder what they would think if I invited them over once in a while. Maybe I'm subconsciously ashamed of my unwillingness to let go of my childhood and that's why I don't have people over. Maybe I enjoy being mysterious. Whatever the case, I need new furniture and better home decor and I plan on getting it as soon as I have a career and a more permanent place of residence. Then you can wonder what it looks like.



Listening to the Eagles.

March 20: Puppy Love

Summer is almost here and Austin is one of the most dog-friendly cities I've ever been in. Everyone here has a canine friend. After a lot of pondering, I think I would really like to be added to that list. Having a little friend welcoming me home every night could really be a boost to my self-esteem. However, there is so much more that needs to be taken into consideration before forking over the money and time needed to welcome in a new roommate.

First of all, what kind of dog would I get? I don't think I would want to adopt, because I want the joys of being a puppy owner. I want to be a part of the training and overall growth of the dog. For reasons that I can't exactly state, I've also been a big purebred kind of guy. Sport (my dog in CA) is a purebred Yellow Labrador Retriever and I want my next dog to be one as well.

From the time I saw The Mask I've wanted a Jack Russell Terrier. I've always thought they were really fun dogs and that their personalities match mine pretty well. We're both class clowns and totally rambunctious, but everything I've heard is that their energy never ends. I don't know if I would be able to keep up. Is it really fair to force a little dog like that to live with me in such small quarters?

I know a few people that have Beagles and I've really liked all of them, but I don't know too much about that breed. Maybe I should look into it. I know I don't want an indoor dog. I don't want a big dog like a Lab, but I want a dog that likes to be outside. I want to take my dog for walks in the park or swimming in the lake.

The real concern for me, though, is my future. I have a hard enough time finding a decent place to live by myself without having to worry about a pet-friendly home. On top of that,I would have to worry about finding a kennel anytime I wanted to go anywhere. I don't want to go out and get a dog because I'm lonely now and then feel tied down for the next fifteen years. On the other hand, I've wanted a dog for quite some time. Does that mean that getting one is right? My dad used to always tell me that when I want something really bad, I should wait a few weeks and if I still want it, then I should get it. Does that idea work with dogs?

There's a lot of research and preparation needed to get a dog. I don't want to be one of those owners that goes out on a whim and gets a dog only to be a horrible owner. I want the dog to have a happy life which is why this is such a big decision. I'll keep you posted.



Listening to ABBA.

March 19: Are There Seconds?

Ok! Now we're talking! Donna Simpson is a 42-year-old, 600 pound mother from New Jersey. She holds the Guinness World Record for fattest mom, and it's Simpson's goal to gain the distinctive honor of being recognized as the fattest woman in the world. Let me repeat that. It's Simpson's goal to be recognized as the fattest woman in the world!

In a perfect world, Donna would weigh 1,000 pounds and wouldn't have to move at all. Happiness comes in many different forms for different people. For example, I'm happiest when I'm watching Survivor and Seinfeld, but Donna is happiest when she's eating.

She even runs a website where people can watch her stuff her face via webcam. (I would post the link, but I can't find the website.) She says, "I love eating and people love watching me eat." She also adds that the support from her fans has been fantastic. Some of them send her protein shakes and junk food in the mail to help her pack on the pounds faster.

Is this a selfish outlook on life or an extremely optimistic one? She says she isn't hurting anyone and she's happiest when she's eating, but she does have kids. She's not hurting anyone now, but what happens when she dies in a few years leaving her kids without a mother? On the other hand, I think it's great that she isn't afraid of doing what she really wants. She needs a mobility scooter to get around and she still doesn't care what people think of her. Is this her attempt at her fifteen minutes of fame? Probably, but at least she's happy, right?



Listening to The Fratellis.

March 18: Speechless

On my desk, I have a list. I keep a running inventory of interesting topics that I think of throughout my daily activities with the hopes that I will someday be able to write a blog entry on one of them when I have writer's block. The problem is that I'm rarely in the right mood or mindset to write about any of the items on the list when I can't think of anything else. Near the top of this ever-growing catalog, I have "People that won't shut up" and I know someday I'm going to have a hilarious entry on the topic.

We all know a person that refuses to stop talking. Sometimes, it's a neighbor and sometimes it's a friend or a friend of a friend. It could be an employer or even a check stand operator at the local Wal-Mart. Usually all it takes is the tiniest bit of attention directed towards this person and the flood gates will open with an outpouring of hot air.

He or she will have an opinion on anything and everything. Give this person the opportunity, and he or she will go on forever. There's always a story of experience, a friend or acquaintance that can relate, or just the wish that the given topic could be experienced.

These people don't always need an opening, either. A lot of the times, they are the starter of conversations. These introductions tend to begin with, "You know what I hate?..." and are like quicksand. The more you fight and try to wriggle free, the tighter they hold on. I try not to be too rude to these talkers, so I'll nod and give a complimentary laugh as I walk away hoping that he or she will get the hint; they rarely do. Just the other night, I literally walked across an entire dining room only to look back and witness this talker still going at it! The person was all alone and still talking to me over a room full of guests! I had to just shake my head and continue on my way with a giant grin spread across my face.

I can't tell if I hate these people or love them. Sure, they can get really irritating if I have someplace to be or something to do, but how can you hate someone that just wants to talk to you? Besides, they make having conversations so much easier! I don't have to be the one to come up with the topic. All I have to do is listen, and even then, I rarely do.

When I'm drawing a blank on what to write about, I look at my list of thirty some-odd topics and try to form a decent blog. I skim over "People that won't shut up" every time and one of these days, I'm really going to strike gold.



Listening to Ben Folds Five.

March 17: SXSW

Are you going to any shows? Are you in town for South by Southwest? You live in Austin? Cool! You must be looking forward to SXSW. SXSW this. SXSW that. Live music here, live music there! Matt's El Rancho.

I don't know how long I'm going to be living in Austin, but if I had to say right now, probably not much longer than August when my lease is up. Will I ever come back? I would like to say yes, but in reality, the answer is probably no. Doesn't it reason then, that I should be taking advantage of what the city has to offer while I'm here? Yes I should be, but how am I supposed to do that by myself?

The only friends I have in this entire city work at Matt's El Rancho so organizing a group of people to go out at once is impossible. Driving my car into the chaos of downtown parking to see a show by a band I've never heard of by myself doesn't make very much sense to me. I wouldn't even know where to begin either. "Just go on the SXSW website and look up shows." It seems to me that's taking quite a gamble. Why go through the headache of getting to a place (and most of the time paying) to listen to a band that I don't even know what they sound like?

I don't think I'm trendy enough to live in such a cool city. I've overheard people at work talking about what shows they're going to see and I honestly haven't heard of a single one. "Oh, so and so is playing on Thursday with this band and that band." "Wow, that's got to be an expensive show!" Who? How do you know about these bands? I know about Regina Spektor and Flogging Molly. That's about as trendy and hip as I get.

I've said it quite a few times already and this probably won't be the last time I say it either. Moving to Austin was an adventure. I wish I would have moved to a place where I knew someone though. I wish I had a friend here that didn't work at Matt's El Rancho that could show me the ropes. I wish my life involved a little more than sleeping and serving Tacos Al Carbon with a guacamole salad.



I wasn't listening to anything.

March 16: Got It

I've almost got it! It is just beyond my reach, but if I can stretch a little further, it shall be mine.

I first felt its presence as I punched my time card signifying the day's end. I gathered my belongings, turned my computer off and walked towards the elevator all while a growing itch in me begged for attention. I almost started clawing at it before the elevator doors slid open, but I willed myself to wait until I was in the privacy of the enclosed descending metal box.

With my briefcase in my right hand and my coat draped over my left arm, the two gold-plated doors separated, and to my disappointment, revealed an elevator of people from offices in floors above mine all going home for the evening. The desire to drop my things and start my search right then and there was almost unbearable as I stepped across the threshold of the crowded elevator, but I stayed strong.

Like an insect delicately prancing across my skin, this presence was yelling, kicking, doing everything it could to distract me. I couldn't think of anything else. Breathing made it more noticeable. Breathing through my separated lips gave it the power; let it win, but until I was alone, I didn't have any other choice.

The elevator doors parted, revealing the underground parking lot. I could see my sedan waiting for me three rows of cars away. Without so much as a nod to the other employees, I pulled my coat in close to my body and gripped the handle of my briefcase before sprinting to my car. As I ran towards the privacy of the driver's seat, I reached into my coat pocket and felt for the key-less entry remote and unlocked the doors. The brake lights were still flashing in silence as I threw open the back door and flung my belongings on the seat.

Finally. Once I found myself safely seated behind the wheel, I reached up and clawed for the presence. I pushed and pulled. I dug and churned. I could feel it. Every time I came close, however, I just pushed it further away. Without thinking, I started the car and backed out. I continued my search of the annoyance in vain as I ascended the spiral drive towards the early evening's light.

The sunshine poured into my windshield as my car drove out from the lot and on to Spirit Avenue. I was so close to getting the pest that I didn't care who saw me now. I had to expunge myself of this devilish item. I turned left on to Main Street and then merged on to the freeway all while in my pursuit.

Once my car came to a standstill on the freeway behind the miles of stopped traffic I decided to go with a new tactic for finding the loathsome itch. I made a fist with my right hand and extended my unclipped pinky. I purposefully keep this fingernail longer than the others for situations exactly like the one I found myself in. I slowly raised my outstretched finger to my face allowing the presence one last thought. I could feel my warm exhales from my nostrils on the tip of my finger before plunging it in. Twice, I pierced my skin before I found the backside of the menace.

As I retracted the lump of dirt, dust, pollen, and mucus from my nostril, I looked over to the car in the adjacent lane. In the backseat, sat a boy in his early years of life; maybe five. He pointed back at me and was laughing uncontrollably.



Listening to Death Cab for Cutie.

March 15: Wake Up!

All I can think about right now is falling asleep on my firm twin-sized mattress. How I managed to get through today's shift is a complete mystery to me. I've been riding my bicycle to work for the past week which isn't a bad ride at all, but when you ride 3.6 miles (according to Google Maps) just to run around fetching entrees and drinks it takes a lot out of a person. When the chaos ends and you think you can relax, you have to strap on the cleats and ride the 3.6 miles back home. It's exhausting beyond belief. Tack that to a 49-hour work week at $2.13 an hour and I'm barely left with any energy to keep my fingers on the home row.

When I woke up this morning, there wasn't any way in the world I could summon the strength to ride my bike to work. Because I had been riding all week, I left my apron in my handlebar bag which meant that I was without all of my pens for an entire shift. At least, I thought, I knew I wouldn't be scheduled to close the shift. The management is very stubborn about paying its employees time and a half of $2.13. To my surprise and extreme disappointment, I was in the one room that I didn't want to be in; the closing room.

Here I was, looking at a seven hour shift without the three pockets I was used to in my apron and without any pens to hand out for credit card slips. I was forced to "borrow" a pen from the office when the manager wasn't looking. I had to take most of orders using my exhausted memory when another table was using my one pen. That can get pretty tricky when three people all have orders involving multiple modifications, but I kept trucking.

All day, I felt like death. If given the opportunity, I could have easily fallen asleep in any position. I don't know how I did it. The entire day was just a blur and I think this is what it must feel like to work hung over. If that's the case, I don't think I will ever go out drinking the night before a morning shift.

Now that I have my daily post in, I can take a hot shower, slip into some cool pajamas and pull the clean sheets over my tired body. Until we meet again tomorrow, I bid you adieu and wish you all a pleasant evening's rest. Good night.



Listening to Otis Redding.

March 14: Hey Y'all!

When I moved to Austin, I was a little disappointed by the lack of regional dialect. Everything I saw on TV suggested that Texas was chock-full of proud cowboys and cowgirls that loved their state. Everything is bigger in Texas, right?

Now, I wasn't exactly expecting to see shoppers at the grocery store wearing spurs and toting lassos and leather chaps. I was hoping to see the sheriff ride into town on his horse, but knew it wasn't very likely, but where was that twang I assumed to find?

After living here for a few months, I have to say that I'm thrilled the drawl isn't more prevalent. I've heard it a few times in the way people order their rainBOW sherbet and prall-ines and it's pretty irritating. I can't really complain about it, though, because I'm on their turf, right? I haven't succumbed to using "y'all" and I refuse to even jokingly use it. I know that by using it in jest will only plant it in my daily vocabulary which would kill me.

How do I know this? I've been using the word "bro" in jest because, you know, I'm from California and that's how everyone talks in Cali! "What's up, bro?" "Thanks, bra!" Yeah. I've been saying it a lot. A LOT. Now, I use it without even meaning to and I'm really getting on my nerves. It's not funny anymore, but I can't help it. So no, I will not use "y'all." I don't want the contraction fraternizing with the rest of my vocabulary.

Because I haven't been exposed to a consistent Texas accent, I have been able to keep my voice. I don't have an accent. It's what you call a non-regional dialect. It's what would make me perfect for the nightly news or the host of my own late night program. The entire country can relate to me easier because my hometown is not easily distinguishable via my accent.

Although my accent (or lack thereof) hasn't suffered because of my new residence, my inner voice's accent hasn't been so fortunate. My inner voice is that voice that I think with. When I read, that's the voice that I hear in my head. There is one particular individual that I know, and after spending seven plus hours with him/her, my inner voice begins to take on his/her very distinctive Texas drawl. It's hard for me to type any examples, but this is the accent that I was expecting to hear from everyone when I came to Austin. It's extremely strong and riddled with those contractions that I love to hate.

Instead of hearing everyone talk with that Southern twang, I get to think it! It's awful. When I check my email at the end of the day, I get the pleasure of reading it with an accent. When I take a shower and I tell my arm to reach for the soap, I use that Southern charm that I don't have. When I fall asleep, it's the voice I hear. I can only hope that he/she goes home calling himself/herself a bro for the remainder of the day.



Listening to Weezer.

March 13: Nothing

It's March 13. It is a beautiful day here in Austin and I'm sitting inside staring at a computer screen because of this ridiculous resolution that I came up with for myself in the dead of winter. I can't go out and enjoy the day because I have to post this before midnight and I work tonight.

I have seriously been sitting in a trance for the past hour trying to come up with something to write about. I'm listening to Frightened Rabbit and watching the minutes tick away. I have my list of potential topics, but nothing is resonating. I was going to write about how I desperately want to be more creative and artistic, but because I'm right-handed I've got this idea in my head that it just wasn't in the cards.

There are quite a few items on my list, but because I don't know who reads these posts and how each individual will interpret the entry, I feel like I'm limited to what I can write about. Recently, I spoke with someone about a topic that would make a good blog, but I don't want to upset him/her by writing what we talked about. I've seen interviews with Larry David about how people are concerned that he is going to include them in his material and I think about that all the time.

I would love to sit here and write my true thoughts on so many different topics, but I get paranoid that it will offend someone or hurt my chances at getting a job. My mom has told me about a few entries that she thinks I should get rid of in case a future employer stumbles upon them, but then what's the purpose of having a blog? Sometimes I wish I could use this space as a journal and get my real thoughts out there for people to read and comment on, but a simple thought can be a very powerful and dangerous thing.

For those of you expecting a story told from the perspective of an inanimate object, I apologize. For those of you looking for a true story from my past, sorry. Mom, I know you like blogs about family vacations and events but you won't get one today. I've got nothing. Sorry.



Listening to Frightened Rabbit.

March 12: Are You This Good?

I grew up with this poem (by an unknown author) displayed on the refrigerator and I want to share it with you.

If you can start the day without caffeine,
If you can always be cheerful, ignoring aches and pains,
If you can resist complaining and boring people with your troubles,
If you can eat the same food everyday and be grateful for it,
If you can understand when your loved ones are too busy to give you any time,
If you can overlook it when those you love take it out on you when through no fault of yours something goes wrong,

If you can resist treating a rich friend better than a poor friend,
If you can face the world without lies and deceit,
If you can say honestly that deep in your heart you have no prejudice against creed, color, religion or politics,
If you can give love unconditionally without pressure or expectation,

Then my friend, you are almost as good as your dog

March 11: Let Me Say Something

"What's up?"

"How's it goin'?"

Two questions. Zero answers. What is this? This is the new accepted greeting? I ask you a question and you respond by asking me one? This is retarded. Period.

People are retarded. Nobody wants to hear what other people have to say. They just want to hear the sound of their own voices. You may or may not know that I have a freakishly good memory and one of the things I vividly remember thinking on a number of occasions while growing up was, "Why is this person even asking if he doesn't want to know the answer?" How did I know he or she didn't care? Because it was written all over the person's face every time I started to answer whatever the question was. Oh, you just wanted to ask me a question so that I would feel like I was a part of the conversation? Next time, don't bother.

People get on my case all the time because I ask a lot of questions. People aren't used to it. I think we've all experienced this pseudo-interest so we've adapted to consider it irregular to be presented with genuine curiosity.

When I ask what kind of Subway sandwich you purchased, I want to know what cheese you chose to compliment the meat with. Are you a mayo and mustard kind of person or do you prefer a dry sandwich? Do you like your bread toasted? It sounds a bit odd, but I want to know. What's wrong with that? People are so used to answering the same unoriginal and routine questions that it makes us inquisitive folk look like outsiders.

My biggest pet peeve in college was having to answer these unvarying questions on a daily basis. Whenever you meet someone in college, you have to ask him or her what course of study he or she is taking. "What's your major?" Then it's your turn to answer the same question. Isn't anyone interested in why a given major was chosen?! Nope. Time for the next question. "Where are you from?" Rinse, lather, and repeat.

Here's an experiment for you. The next time you find yourself in a situation where someone asks you how you're doing, give the cordial response and ask a unique question of them and watch them go. Throw in a few filler questions, nods, and maybe an "Mmm Hmm" and they will go all day. The funny thing is, they will have no clue that you're controlling the conversation without even being a part of it. Funny? That's the wrong adjective. It's disgusting.

So I'll sit here with my group of zero friends under this artificial light in front of my computer screen and I'll write a blog about it. I'll sit here in my neurotic self-pity complaining about the issues in life that no one thinks of or cares about and hope that someone reads my societal criticisms because after all, I just want to be heard.



Listening to Dido.

March 10: I Don't Like Her

It's a funny thing; how we treat each other. Some of us are rude as hell to each other while others act rude to mask true feelings. A little boy will push a little girl down because he likes her. A teen aged girl will avoid any and all communication with the guy she likes and wonder why he doesn't talk to her.

Girls are brutal to other girls for no reason at all. I've been told that they do it because they feel threatened or intimidated by each other, but this doesn't make any sense to me at all. I guess I could sort of understand it if two girls were going after the same guy, but that's rarely the case.

Just a week ago, I witnessed that exact scenario. A girl (we'll call her Sara) stood up and walked out of the room. No sooner had the door swung shut behind her, that another girl (let's say Jane) felt it necessary to voice her opinion of Sara. "I don't like her." That was it. No reason. The funny thing is that no one asked why she held this grudge. Sure, a few people at the table chimed in with his or her thoughts on Sara, but no one asked Jane to explain herself. (By the way, that's an idea for a future post. Stay tuned!)

I know for a fact that neither girl has gone out of her way to get to know the other one, but why did Jane feel it was necessary to let everyone know how she felt about Sara? They weren't talking to one another before Sara got up and left. They weren't even sitting at the same table! "I don't like her." All that did was stir up negative energy directed towards an unbeknownst Sara.

Now, I'm not taking either side here, but let's say for the sake of argument that Jane was right about Sara. Let's say that Sara is a complete you-know-what. What was Jane hoping to achieve by pointing out the obvious? If anything, it just makes Jane look just as bad as Sara. Now everyone that heard Jane's opinion has a reason to dislike Jane as well!

I've written a few posts (all in pure sarcasm and jest, by the way) about how I think I'm better than everyone else, but I honestly try not to talk bad about people. Just like everyone else, I have my list of people that I can't stand to be in the same room with. There are people that I wouldn't miss at all if I never heard of them again, but I just don't think I would be solving anything by talking negatively about them.

When Sara left the room, I felt bad for her. There she was minding her own business and people started talking about her as soon as she left for no reason at all! We all want to be liked, but where do we get this idea that talking like that about another human being is going to get us any more respect.

Kids do funny things to each other when they like one another and the whole "game" that girls play is something that I simply will not put up with. I would rather spend the rest of my life alone than partake in that little escapade, but the way we treat each other in general is kind of sad. If you ever get a moment, step back and watch closely how different people treat others. It may very well surprise you.



Listening to Keane.

March 9: You're Welcome

I do a lot for people on a daily basis. I am constantly thinking of others. The only time I ever think about myself is when I visualize doing good deeds for others. There are a lot of selfish people that are in it for themselves and no one else. I'm the opposite.

I wake up each morning with one goal in mind: To improve the lives of as many people as possible. What will it take? A kind word of inspiration? An anecdote to cheer someone up? How many people can I grace with my smile today?

I serve hot food to hungry people. I make babies smile. I buy products to keep companies running. I listen to radio programs and watch TV shows to improve ratings. When most people sit through one movie at the local multiplex, I sit through five! I support the efforts of five times the amount of workers than the average movie-goer! I make mirrors look good and writers sound even better! Every employee at every job longs to annoy his or her supervisor. I do that every day!

You know, it would be nice if, just once, someone would acknowledge my lack of egotistical thoughts. To have a fellow citizen approach and inform me that all of my deeds have not gone unnoticed would be a nice reminder of what a great guy I am. Is that too much to ask for? I don't expect anything, although a little love would be appreciated once in a while. Shower me with gifts and candy. I deserve it. I am more entitled to these objects of affection than any other person alive.

You may not have listened, but Little Caesar's did! $4.32 for a large Hot & Ready pepperoni pizza today only. And for me, the customer, only! Today, I was finally recognized for all of my hard work. Today I felt like a king. Today...was Customer Appreciation Day.



Listening to a Classic Rock mix.

March 8: Tracy

The first time I saw Tracy Morgan was when he was on Saturday Night Live as Brian Fellows. I remember thinking to myself, this guy is going to be big. I put him in the same category as Adam Sandler, Will Ferrell, and Bill Murray. I honestly thought he was going to be a huge star on SNL for years and that stardom would flawlessly transfer to a career in film.

I hate Tracy Morgan. He plays the same exact character in every sketch, TV show, and movie and he's not funny at all. He can't recite any of his lines without yelling them in some incoherent urban jive. Today I saw Cop Out with him and Bruce Willis. When I saw the trailer, I thought to myself, wow this is going to be a really bad movie. I didn't think the trailer was funny at all, but now that I've wasted two hours of my life watching the real thing, I only wish it was as funny.

I now have a throbbing headache due to Morgan's constant yelling and baby-talk delivery. How is the audience supposed to believe that his character could ever be hired as a New York City cop? He crept around corners with his arms extending into the room he was entering and his undercover skills were a joke! If I was a bad guy hiding in the room he was coming into, I would blow Morgan's arms clear off! Don't even get me started on his interrogation skills! What was that?! Yelling lines from classic cop films at the top of his lungs?

Am I supposed to buy this? Am I supposed to be laughing? Brian Fellows was funny the first time I saw it. I've since watched those skits over again and they are no longer funny. I love Tina Fey and Alec Baldwin, but I can't watch 30 Rock because of Morgan. He's not funny or clever and he should be taken out of entertainment. That's all.



I wasn't listening to anything.

March 7: The Butterfly Effect

According to Wikipedia, "Chaos theory is a field of study in mathematics, physics, and philosophy studying the behavior of dynamical systems that are highly sensitive to initial conditions. This sensitivity is popularly referred to as the butterfly effect. Small differences in initial conditions (such as those due to rounding errors in numerical computation) yield widely diverging outcomes for chaotic systems, rendering long-term prediction impossible in general."

* * * *

Sitting on a white IKEA Boliden armchair at three o'clock in the morning in a hot apartment in suburban Whitehall, PA, a wise guy (A legitimate wise guy. Not a smart alec. Very different.) posed the philosophical question: Do you ever wonder how you got here? Throughout your life, you're given choices. Which paths do you take? How does taking one route over another affect your here and now? Do you ever think about that?

Yes. Yes I do. I think about it all the time. I was born in San Diego to two loving parents. I was given a sister at the age of five and went through my childhood with every decision made for me. Upon graduating high school, I was forced to make the first critical decision of my young life. I could stay in San Diego with my then-girlfriend and continue living at home and attend a community college. I could continue working at the local grocery store and eventually become a clerk and possibly move up to management. Instead, I moved two hours north and went to a private university.

The next choice came at me immediately following my acceptance to Chapman. This was the choice of what course of study to take. Looking back on the last five years since graduating with a degree in Communications, I still feel like I chose the wrong path. I was really involved with theatre in high school and I wish I would have stayed on that path. I was afraid that getting a degree in Theatre would not have been the smartest choice given the unlikelihood of getting into the industry. But look at me now! I'm no better than I would have been. I'm waiting tables which is probably what I would have been doing anyway. At least I would have tried.

The next major fork in the road came at me in my Junior or Senior year at Chapman. This was a very subtle opportunity and I didn't realize its presence until after graduation. I was sick of attending classes so applying to graduate school never crossed my mind. Where would I have been if I had gotten my Master's instead of screwing around for the past five years?

I would probably have a decent job which means I would have never moved to Pennsylvania to pursue a career in baseball. If I never chased that career path, I wouldn't have ever come to the conclusion that it was the wrong industry for me which means I wouldn't have ever moved to Austin at the end of the baseball season.

What if I had continued in my pursuit of a career in acting? Would I be a successful actor by this point in my life? Would I still be struggling trying to make it? Would I be in California, or would I have moved to New York? What would my group of friends be compared with the friends I have now? What would my hobbies and interests be? Would I be listening to the same types of music in this alternate universe as I'm listening to now? I know I wouldn't have near the ping-pong skills that I have now because of the hours spent playing in college, but what unknown skills would I have developed?

What events would take place because of my other life? I could have been on my way to an audition and gotten into a horrible accident leaving me paralyzed. Maybe I would have had more exposure and been selected to be a castaway on Survivor. Maybe I would be obsessed with getting on a different show. What if I made it big and never needed the attention that I thought being on a television show would bring me?

How would my decisions affect others? If I had stayed in San Diego after graduating high school, would I still be with my girlfriend? Would we have gotten married? Divorced? Would I be a dad? What if I had befriended another struggling actor and he or she was in the accident with me leaving him/her paralyzed or worse? Somewhere, that person is living out his/her life with friends and family completely oblivious to the what-if scenarios of what could have been.

I know that novels have been penned and movies have been produced on the subject. Lost is in its final season and in a way, it too deals with the topic at hand. What if things had gone differently? How different would my life be? Would the grass be greener or have I been taking the right paths all along?



Listening to Regina Spektor

March 6: Maybe We Should Stalk Other People

Have you every been de-friended by someone on Facebook? Check that. Have you ever caught a Facebook friend de-friending you? It sucks! Being removed from someone's list of friends on Facebook probably happens more than you know it, but to catch it in action hurts.

What does it mean to be someone's friend on Facebook? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. You might be able to see a few more pictures of the person or be able to read his or her list of favorite TV shows. That's it! I don't think the number of friends you have on Facebook is any indication of your status in life. In fact, I tend to think less of a person when he or she has more than 1,000 friends. I feel like there are some people that make eye contact with you and instantly want to be your friend on the social networking site.

A few years ago (yeah, it's still on my mind!) a girl I knew in high school requested to be my friend. She was a part of that first awkward group of friends I had at lunch in high school. I think she was brought over to the group by a friend that I attended junior high with. We never really had any in-depth conversations or did anything together outside of eating lunch until we found our own clique to migrate to. As high school progressed, I might have had one or two classes with the girl, but again, no real friendship.

By the way, this relationship differs greatly from the one mentioned in my March 4 post. I knew this girl. She knew me. This friendship was entirely different from that of the person that the only thing we shared in common was attending the same school.

Anyway, when I received the friend request from the girl on Facebook, I did what any other guy would do. I checked out her pictures. She had grown into a fox! This girl had grown out of the awkward and skinny girl I knew in high school and developed into a very attractive woman.

One day, I went to her page to see if there were any new pictures of her only to be told that my only option was to add her to my friends. This girl, who had requested me, had removed me from her list! I was no longer good enough to be a part of her friends.

Why did this bother me so much? I never had a Facebook chat with her. I never wrote on her wall or gave a thumbs-up-like to any of her newsfeed stories. Maybe she realized that I was just a number and there wasn't any reason to maintain the superficial friendship. If that was the case, I have a lot more respect for her. On the other hand, maybe she was tired of my self-loathing status updates and wanted to exterminate them altogether.

Whatever the case may be, it kind of sucks to actually be taken off of someone's list of friends. It sounds really funny and a bit immature now that I'm writing about it, but still! I feel like I've been dumped!



Listening to Neil Young.

March 5: Can You Believe This Guy?!

Servers have to be some of the most bitter people in the world. The majority of people in the industry hate their jobs and aren't afraid to voice their opinions. It's not that surprising because constantly being told what to do can get on your nerves. Really, that's all servers do for hours on end. They're running errands for other people, being told that something isn't right, doing what they can to make someone else comfortable. The only appreciation they receive is in the form of their gratuity after each guest has left and sometimes that doesn't help.

I find it interesting, though, how being constantly bossed around can lead to such petty and immature thoughts on the server's part. Sure, we have a lot to complain about. There are quite a few guests out there that are way too picky and needy, but I've heard some pretty bizarre complaints from fellow servers.

My favorite came just a week ago. A server came up to me after dropping the check at one of his tables and he was fuming! Apparently when he went to present the tab, the guest gave him a credit card for the bill and a ten dollar bill that he needed to get change for. The server was livid that the guest would have the nerve to ask such a thing.

"He wants me to run his credit card for the bill, so why the f*ck does he want change?!" he complained as he violently slid the card through the computer's reader. "What a f*ckin' a-hole!"

I couldn't help but smile and shake my head. I didn't think there was anything wrong with the request at all. In fact, the guest was probably doing the server a favor. He more than likely wanted to use part of the change for the server's tip which meant that the server wouldn't have to claim it at the end of the night.

This isn't the only example of a server's horrible and bitter attitude towards his/her job that I witness every shift I work. "They want more chips! They want separate checks! He wants a refill? Look at all the modifications I have to put in for this lady!" This is your job! This is what you signed up for! Yeah, it can get extremely irritating if you're busy, but it doesn't change the fact that it's what you're paid to do.

If you're a server, which I assume most of you are, the next time you go in for a shift, listen to the complaints of your co-workers and really listen to the context of what they're saying. If you think about it, the complaint is usually good for a laugh or two.



Listening to Neil Diamond.

March 4: Do I Know You?

I received a Facebook friend request the other day. The name sounded familiar, but I didn't know where I had heard or seen the name before. Apparently, we had 14 friends in common so I thought that if I took a gander at the list of our mutual acquaintances, something might click in my memory. Every name on the list was a friend from high school so I came to the conclusion that I knew this person back when I was a mighty eagle at Granite Hills.

Upon further investigation, though, I was still clueless as to who this person was or is. Pictures didn't do anything for me. Names of spouses and wall posts didn't do anything either. As far as I could tell, I was nothing more than a name in a yearbook that came up in the search window of Facebook. After all, I was the most talented male of 2001!

This, I don't get. Why do people that attended the same high school as me feel it necessary to add me to their enormous list of Facebook friends? It happens all the time too! I'll get a friend request from someone that I don't remember at all, but because we both graduated in '01 from Granite, I feel obligated to accept. I assume that if we had the same friends that we were friends too, but why don't I remember you? Why do you want to be my friend on Facebook?

What is this going to accomplish? Are you going to Facebook chat with me now that we're "friends?" No. Are you going to write on my wall? No. You're probably never even going to super poke me, but I'm going to get the (insert sarcasm tone here) joy of watching your progress in Mafia Wars every day in my newsfeed. I'm nothing more than a number to you. You just want more friends and I'm encouraging this behavior by begrudgingly accepting your request.



Listening to Arcade Fire.

March 3: Oops!

I don't think anyone puts their foot in their mouth more than I do. I have a special knack for saying the most inappropriate comments at the the most inopportune times. I've made obscene remarks about girlfriends to boyfriends only to be told that the relationship had ended the night before. I've said things about people only to realize they were right behind me.

I've never referred to myself as "Daddy" until last week. It was to a complete stranger that was talking about her hair and I thought it would make my group of friends laugh if I said "Daddy likes." The stranger then informed me that she had just spread her dad's ashes the previous week. Daddy was humiliated and felt awful. We all say dumb things that we don't mean and immediately wish we could take back, but for me it's gotten to the point where my friends expect me to say the unexpected.

One particular event happened just a few days ago. A group of people were talking about tattoos that they had or were thinking about getting. Now, I'm not a fan of tattoos, but I'm not a fan of coffee either. That doesn't mean I go around yelling at people for drinking coffee and making them feel stupid for having their own preferences. So why did I open my fat mouth in regards to tattoos.

One of the members of the group was pointing out different tattoos that he/she had and what each one meant to him/her. Like the idiot that I am, I felt it was necessary to announce to the group of people how much I hated tattoos. I literally spat my feelings on the subject with a curled lip and stormed off. I wasn't pointing at this one individual's body art and degrading him/her for having them or making fun of them, but as soon as I left the conversation, I knew that's how my comments were received. After realizing my stupidity, I went back to the circle of friends and tried to correct my mistake, but it was too late. My words were already out in the open leaving a bad taste in everyone's mouth.

I've since apologized to the individual again, but it simply made things worse. The conversation was awkward and there wasn't a smooth transition to another topic. In fact, this blog will probably make matters even worse and I know I should drop it altogether, but I honestly feel really bad. I mean, if someone came up to me and told me that they hate brown hair with as much hostility as I used to describe tattoos, I would feel pretty bad too. (Maybe that's not a very good analogy, but it was the best I could come up with.) All I was trying to say was that I don't have any interest in getting one for myself. I know people get them for various reasons and that's perfectly fine by me.

So now, of course, all I will be able to think about when around this person and everyone else in the group that day is what a bitter and miserable person they must think I am. I'm sure things will calm down, bygones will be bygones, and everything will be fine and dandy until I congratulate a girl for being pregnant.



Listening to U2