Category — Obsersvational

Watching Figure Skating Alone in the Dark on a Saturday Night

There’s nothing like settling in on a Saturday night, drinking 16 or 17 beers and watching people twirl around on the ice.  And I love weeping silently to myself after a really powerful dance move that coincides with the swelling of music.  So graceful.  So…petite.

Cool Runnings Quotes

Remember that movie?  Cool Runnings?  Well for a two week span, you were forced to listen to my criminally pathetic attempt at a Jamaican accent.  You also had to listen to me absolutely BUTCHER quotes from the movie.  Now that the Winter Olympics have come and gone, you have permission to slap and or punch me when when I break into the Jamaican bobsled song…a song with words that I can’t be bothered to look up.

The 5 Second Span Where My Friends and I Thought our Curling Yelling was Funny.

WHOA!! WHOAAAAAAAAAAAA!!! Hahaha, that was hilarious.  WHOA! Ha…not so much now though…

Realizing, Along with Other College Graduates, That I Honestly Don’t Know the Difference Between Great Britain and the UK…

Ok…so…they’re both similar, right?  I think Great Britain is part of the UK…or something…but what’s the difference?  And why the hell do a collection of countries get to compete together?  That’s kinda lame.  Can’t Scotland Whales and Northern Ireland compete for their own medals?  Or do they?  Wait, are Scotland Whales and Northern Ireland countries?  Ya never really hear about them.  I feel stupid.  I swear I’m smart…at least that’s what I tell people…

Daydreaming about Winning a Medal in an Unusual Way

I honestly have played through this scenario a few times in the past week:

I competed in the biathlon and did okay.  I didn’t come anywhere close to winning, or so I thought.  Months later, I’m unemployed, sitting in my kitchen in my mobile home (somewhere in Florida) opening my mail.  I come across a letter from the IOC.  The letter says that the entire Norwegian, Swedish and Finish teams were disqualified in the biathlon for using bullets that weren’t sanctioned by the IOC and using experimental screws in their skies that were banned the previous year.  So, after 38 people were DQd, I, by default, came in third and won a bronze medal.  I silently say, “What the hell?” to myself in my dimly lit, shitty home.  A week later my bronze medal is mailed to me and it clearly has been damaged–damage that occurred when the IOC had to forcibly take the medal from its previous owner in a police shootout.  I put the medal in my sock drawer for a week until I pawn it for cash–cash that I use to buy dish soap.

Eating Ham Straight Out of the Deli Bag

*Joe stuffs a fist-full of ham into his mouth*  ”WAHOOOOO!!!  OLYMPICS!!!!”

Satan himself designed and implemented the very first elevator.  It’s a historic fact.  He filed the patent on a bitter cold February morning and then cackled wildly as a notary public stamped the approval documents (he then proceeded to buy a mint julep from a street vendor, drank it too fast, fell victim to “brain freeze,” and then took a nap–this is too is documented).

Only Satan could devise a transportation device that forces people into the most awkward and jittery situation imaginable.  Has anyone had a “successful” ride in an elevator?  Is it even possible to ride in one and escape with your dignity in tact?  I submit “no”.  I also submit “no” again and ask that the previous “no” be reprinted in bold wingdings font.  Thank you, your honor.

I’m forced to ride in an elevator on a daily basis at work and after only two weeks I’m begging the security guards in the building to close the damnable machine for good.  Here are a few of the situations that I’ve been put in…

I was Caught Trying to Close the Doors After Someone Yelled to Hold the Doors

Don’t look at me like that.  You would have done the same thing.  I’ll do almost anything to avoid riding in an elevator with a stranger.  Hell, I’ll do anything to avoid riding in an elevator with a friend!!!  I’m stuck in three square feet of space.  We only have less than a minute together.  I DO NOT WANT TO TALK TO YOU ABOUT THE WEATHER, SPORTS, OR HOW YOU HIT SOMEONE IN THE PARKING LOT AND LEFT A FAKE NOTE.

In this instance, a woman with her hands full of crap (probably drugs or illegal documents judging by her surly manner), yelled out “Hold that door!”  I said, “I’ll try!”  I then jammed my finger on the Door Close button as fast as I could.  The doors shut quickly, but not quick enough.  The woman slid in at the last minute, spilling her things all over the inside of the elevator.  She picked up her things and looked at me.  Verbatim, this is the conversation between us:

Surly Woman: You were pressing the close button, weren’t you?  Don’t lie.  I know you were.  If you REALLY wanted to hold  the doors for me, you would have held your arm out.  There’s something seriously wrong with a person like you.

Me: (As the woman is walking out onto her floor and the doors are closing) Yes, I was.  And I’d do it again if I had the chance.

I Convinced a Cute Girl that I’m Incompetent

So there’s a cute girl that works on my floor.  We’ve made eye contact several times and I’ve even made her laugh several times with quick comments as we’ve passed.  I was ready for an actual conversation.  But then an elevator fucked up everything.  It was first thing on Monday morning and I was really tired, barely paying attention, and a zombie by most definitions of the word.  The elevator was almost full when the cute girl slipped in at the last minute.  I had a whole fucking conversation planned, but I wasn’t ready for her to pop in like that.

I panicked and forgot to press my floor button.  I realized my mistake as we began moving and went to hit the button…but then accidentally hit the Emergency Stop button.  The alarm went off and the elevator screeched to a stop.  We had to wait ten minutes for security to Un-Emergency Stop us.  The entire effing elevator was laughing at me.  To make matters worse, the elevator stopped at a floor before mine and I got off.  Several people in the elevator KNEW I was on the wrong floor–including the girl.  I just walked off, checking my phone and humming an incoherent tune.  I haven’t made eye-contact with the cute girl since.  Thanks a lot, you demon machine!!!

Two Separate People have Started Crying in the Elevator with me.

A guy one time and some woman the other time.  Each time the doors closed and as soon as the elevator started moving the other person started crying hysterically.  I scrunched up against the corner and looked at my shoes.  I checked my phone.  Checked my watch.  Scanned the inspection sticker.  Nope, this crazy person was STILL CRYING.

The second incident was the worse, by far.  We hit SIX FLOORS while she was crying and on each floor someone was about to get in, saw a crazy woman crying, looked at me and then said, “oops, this is going up…I need to uh…go…down.”

Those assholes didn’t need to go down.

Lastly, to drive home my point of the evility of elevators, I have included a letter that John Adams wrote to Thomas Jefferson:

Dear Sir,

At the expense of sounding quite the fool, I’m admitting to you that I have recently fallen down the stairs in my home.  I slipped on my nightgown, tumbled head-over-heels and struck my head on a banister.  So it is with a dizzy head and my wife’s name not entirely certain to me, that I urge you, sir, to you avoid all elevators in this life and the next.  I will be submitting to Congress a bill that will call for the destruction of all Elevators and the immediate hanging of any elevator inventors or salesmen.  It may even behoove me to urge congress to hang the children and cousins of a elevator salesman.  I haven’t decided yet.  Furthermore, when I figure out what the devil an elevator is, I will diddle you a doodle so we may fight this fight together.  TO ARMS, I say!

Your humbly confused servant:

John Adams.

It’s a known fact. Girls just don’t like us nice guys. Look at Ducky, for example:

Nicest guy in the world. But who ended up making out with Molly Ringwald in the parking lot after Prom? THIS GUY:

No doubt, it sucks to be us. It sucks real, real hard. But at least we have the self-righteous knowledge that it’s the fact that we are SO COMPLETELY AND UTTERLY WONDERFUL that turns women off. We are the best guys in the world, and if these stupid airheads don’t appreciate every facet of our incredibly complex personalities, that’s their loss, right?

So what defines a real tried and true nice guy? A nice guy enjoys a myriad of conversation topics, such as how girls don’t like nice guys, how nice guys always seem to finish last, and how no one will ever love them enough to make the dull ache of loneliness go away. What kind of woman would reject such a nice guy in favor of some overly-confident tool with a full-time job and his own car? Women are so superficial.

Being the phenomenally kind and generous human being that I am , I’ve devised a helpful quiz below to help you figure out whether or not you’re a legit NG. Good luck! (See what I did there? I’m being nice again! Jeez, I just can’t help myself!)

The Nice Guy Quiz

1a. Do those bitches just overlook you because you’re a good guy?
1b. Come on, really, you can admit it… they do, don’t they?
1c. Doesn’t that just piss you off?

2a. Is that whore (let’s call her Brenda) ignoring you because she’s stuck on some asshole (let’s call him Carl)?
2b. Isn’t Carl’s stupid face too small for his stupid body?
2c. Don’t you just want to watch him die?

3a. Do you cry often?
3b. Shouldn’t Brenda be comforting you as you cry on her front lawn?
3c. Shouldn’t she understand how tortured and special you are, and stroke your hair just like mom used to?
3d. Isn’t mom great?

If you answered “Yes!” to two or more of these questions… you’re TOTALLY nice! Jeez, you’re a great guy. What’s wrong with those whores? Right? We’d treat them like gold if it weren’t for those restraining orders. Ugh. This world we live in makes me sick.

If you did NOT answer “Yes!” to two or more of these questions… you’re probably one of those stupid guys who thinks they’re nice because they’re, like, caring and shit and treat girls well. How’d you get a girl to treat well, huh? How’d that happen? You must have gotten that girl BECAUSE WAY DEEP INSIDE YOU’RE ACTUALLY AN ASSHOLE. WE KNOW HOW THE WORLD WORKS, BUDDY, AND YOU’RE NOT FOOLING ANYONE. You make me sick.

If you did not answer “Yes!” to ANY of these questions… someone is probably keying your car right now, you better go check on it. (Ignore any bomb-like devices that you might see strapped to the bottom of the car. Just go stand close to it for the next forty-five seconds.) (I hate you, Carl.)

Hope this was helpful.

I’m a nail biter, so I deal with hang nails on a regular basis.  When it comes to hangnails or hangnail problems, you could say that I’m an expert–kinda like the dinosaur expert in the movie Lost World, except that I don’t have a giant beard.  Why am I tooting my own horn, you ask?  Well, I just want to extend my personal services to everyone reading this.

I don’t recommend an untrained person try to tackle a hangnail on their own.  I’ve been fighting hangnails on the front line for close to twenty years now and I know that when it comes to hangnails, you don’t fuck around or someone will wind up dead.  Now, normally my consultation services can run anywhere from $50,000 – $75,000.  But I’ve recently read that hangnail deaths are on the rise nearly 400%, so I figure it’s my duty to at least post some tips.

(If the Discovery Channel or History Channel people have stumbled across this blog, I encourage them to get in contact with me so I can discuss a TV series deal and line up a printer to make T-shirts for the show.  I’m think’n maybe a picture of a pair of nail clippers sodomizing a hangnail or possibly a miniature guillotine chopping off the end of a finger with a hangnail.  I’m kinda married to those two ideas, but I’m sure we could discuss variations.)

Tips for treating a basic hangnail:

1) DO NOT CALL THE POLICE.

The hangnail will want you to contact the authorities because they’ll negotiate a deal.  You don’t want this.  I have much respect for the police, but they’re bumbling idiots and incompetent boobs when it comes to removing a jagged wayward piece of nail and flesh.  Instead, either call a specialist–i.e. me  : ) — or you tell the hangnail to eat shit.  Proceed to step two if you want to see the next sunrise.

2) KEEP THE FINGER WITH THE HANGNAIL IN YOUR POCKET OR POSSIBLY IN A MITTEN OR GLOVE.

This will ensure that when you’re discussing a plan of action that the hangnail will not hear you.  Hangnails are nosy by nature, so you have to be careful when talking around the hangnail.  The last thing you need is to get a solid plan together involving a garden rake or a brass pair of clippers only to have your plan go to shit because the hangnail heard you conspiring.  Hangnails are conniving bastards.  Don’t let them get the drop on you.

3) REFRAIN FROM LICKING OR BITING THE HANGNAIL.  ALSO, DO NOT BUY THE HANGNAIL EXPENSIVE JEWELRY, PERFUMES OR MOVE INTO AN APARTMENT WITH THE HANGNAIL.

This will only cause you to drop your guard.  Also it will make the hangnail wet and difficult to remove.  Hangnails, much like some women, will try to use their looks to deceive and trick you to get what they want.  (Women are also like hangnails for the following reasons: they both will detach from the skin if you bite or pick at them; they hurt when you get rid of them; they smell nice; there’s one out there for everyone–two if you’re lucky)  The hangnail may act all innocent and say, “hey, buddy…hows it going?  I don’t hurt that bad today.  Wanna lick me?  Hmm?  I’ll treat you right if ya give me a lickedy lick lick.”  Ignore the hangnail.   I’ve lost many friends and colleagues to a smooth-talking hangnails.  Don’t follow the same fate they did…

4) TAKE OUT A LIFE INSURANCE POLICY

7/10 times a hangnail removal will result in one or more deaths.  It’s a lousy number, but a realistic one.  You can never let your guard down with hangnails.

5) DRINK WHISKEY

…or any hard alcohol.  Moonshine or grain alcohol would be best.  The drunker you are, the better.  Once you’ve got a savage buzz going, start shouting at the hangnail.  Scream at the hangnail!!  Don’t forget to chug straight alcohol when you’re taking a break to think of new things to shout at the nail.  When you’re nearly blind drunk, commence your plan of action and begin hitting the hangnail with pots, pans or rolling pins (or anything near you).

6) DO NOT STICK YOUR HAND IN THE GARBAGE DISPOSAL!!!

At this point, you’re shit-faced on some form of illegal or unsafe alcohol.  Don’t forget that the hangnail is attached to your hand, which is attached to your body.  If you cannot feel your hand, then you are too drunk.  Pass out and start the steps over from the beginning.

7) BUY MY BOOK: JOE’S COMPLETE GUIDE TO TREATING HANGNAILS

Amazon has a great deal if you buy it before the end of the month!!!

Dear  Amber,

I’m 25 years old, single, unemployed, and depressed. I can barely get out of bed in the mornings. At the end of the month, I’m going to be evicted from my apartment and will be effectively homeless. All of my friends from college have abandoned me, and I’m starting to exude a particularly pungent body odor. I often feel like the world would be a better place if I’d never been born. What resources can you suggest to help me turn my life around?

–Sad and Depressed
North Hollywood, CA

Dear SAD,

I seriously cannot eat any more protein. Like, I’m trying to eat these protein bars? Right? And I can get through, like, two bites before it’s just… waaaaaaaaaaaay too much protein! My boyfriend ordered me a salad with steak on it, I took two bites and told him that I felt like I was giving Ironman a blowjob. He apparently didn’t get the joke. Maybe protein interferes with your sense of humor? Hahaha.

*

Dear Amber,

I recently became a member of a progressive church, and have been delighted to see my faith start to take priority in my life! The members of my congregation have been incredibly kind and welcoming, but I sometimes question the methods of Ultimate GrandMaster _______. I was fine with the animal sacrifices, blood-drinking, and suicide pact (2012, baby!), but recently he’s started asking me to “lie with him” and several other elderly males in the congregation in order for the Alien Spirit Zudzu to implant me with his baby-juice. This, frankly, seems like a little much. Am I just being oversensitive?

–Would Rather Not Be Preggers, Please
Vista, CA

Dear WRNBPP,

So many of my friends talk about going to Katsuya… and I’m like, ugh. I seriously cannot even begin thinking about it. All that food on all those plates? Ugh. Ugh. Ugh. Blegh. Brrrrrrrrr. Oh God, I’m thinking about it again–I’m going to friggin throw up, I’m going to vomit, I’m seriously not even joking my guts are on the floor.

*

Dear Amber,

Two weeks ago, I walked in on my boyfriend and my best friend having sex in our apartment. I was understandably devastated, and moved out immediately. The trouble is, I’d come to rely on my best friend for a lot in the kitchen (she’s a cheese grater). Last night I tried making pizza without her, and I just didn’t even know where to start. Is it stupid of me to open myself up to getting hurt again by reaching out for her friendship (and MAD shredding skills)?

–Bitch Grated My Soul
Quartz Hill, CA

Dear BGMS,

A few days ago my best friends and I took these really adorable pictures in a photo booth, and couldn’t decide how to split them up. Three of us were dividing four pictures, and I only got one. My fat friend got two. It’s like… Just because you take up 50% of the space doesn’t mean you get 50% of the pictures! Then she wanted to go to Chili’s, and I was so embarrassed for her I thought I might jokingly kill myself. She said she was hungry. Well cue the tiny violins! Friendship is hard.