I blog. About life.

Tag: fail

People I want to falcon punch:

Sorry, bromances about my non existence. I had oral surgery (heh, oral), and basically tried to die in the process. Dr. couldn’t get me to stop bleeding, got 8 stitches went home, still wouldn’t stop bleeding, had to go back in. Took the eight out and put ten more back in. Went back in a week to take the stitches out, started bleeding again, had to put five back in. Went back in a week, got AWL the stitches out…. got an infection. Bah, but, I’m all better and settled now.

In my angst of being spaced out on percocet, I had some time to think about shit that I hate. So, here’s my short, lovely message of things I’d love to falcon punch.

Preface: in case you’re unaware of what exactly a  falcon punch is.

1. That asshole who can’t drive… but who always seems to be in front of you. Seriously dude, I have places to go and shit to do. MOVE!

2. People in the gym who moan their workout into oblivion. This isn’t sex, I’m just trying to get my bod on. Please stop groaning at me.

3. Families who take the entire hoard to the grocery store. Lady, move your fucking cart and control your kids.I want some cheetos.

4. The “I’m drunk” whore at the bar. You’re still not sexy.

5. Close talkers. Your breath is bad.

6. Elevator/airplane farters.

7. Salespeople in retail stores. I don’t want to smell like old lady, desperate douche-bag, or cheap whore. I’m not interested in your discount card, I don’t want to hear about the new sale, and I don’t want to be a member. I want to get out of here with my cheetos.

Wha’ ha’ happened?!

Okay, Christmas happened, right? Time to use those gift cards we all got. #awsum!

Welp, my sister-in-law and brother got me a gift card to Wal-Mart. #problematic

The nearest Wal-Mart to my current location is 45 minutes away… it’s also in one of the most…. trashy urban fabulous… areas.  I know what you’re thinking, just shop online.

But, I’m cheap. I’d rather not pay full price and pay for shipping. They always have those stupid ass sales that nobody celebrates, IE:  It’s Gradma Shat Herself Day. Prices are dropping faster than grandma’s grasp on reality.

Bam. sale. Totally gonna cash in on this card.

Anyway, so I made the trek to this cesspool of struggling human intellect, hoping for some bargains. On my way in I got stuck behind a four year old (ish) tottling along saying “fuck me, fuck me, fuck me…” as his parents laughed. Definitely a good sign.

I figured I’d scurry off to the food section. Maybe I could snaffle some cheap sustenance.  If there’s anything in life that understands me, it’s a stick of butter. The food was poisoned. Some pube of an employee had put moth balls under the aisle separators… presumably to rid the store of a bug infestation? But, it only served to make the whole food section reek like old lady carpet. For the love of God. Need. Air…. and a bath

I made way to the furniture section. Hoping for some clarity to bolster myself enough to find something to buy with my damn gift card. I ran into some trailor queen and her cigarette hero stealing a lamp. The fuck people?! A lamp?! An ugly lamp too? Uuugh. Trash without vision. At least Oscar was pimp.

By this point in my venture, I’m too embarrassed by my own species to function. So, I grabbed my own lamp and beasted my way to the check out.

Got stuck behind a 45 y/o guy with track shorts, a headband, and a wind breaker. People of walmart are real.

As I’m waiting in line, the floor manager sees somebody he knows behind me. So he swaggers over and greats his friend with some form of language I don’t understand. Followed by a “dude, dis front is mine. I could smoke a bowl up in here, if I wanted to. Ain’t nobody gonna stop me. This my area.”

Apparantly all it takes for you to manage a the front of a walmart is some facial tattoo’s, a strong swagger, and a mild marijuana addiction. Why did I get my bachelors? Why?

Never. Going. Back.


You know, you’d think that when it matters the most, I’d be able to be the most awesome-unicorn-approved hero, ever. You’d think.

Well, that’s not the case. The moments that most need a unicorn hero are when I bust out the very best dumassitry

I’m reasonably sure this inability to shoot magical stars and rainbows out my ass on demand is probably why I’m still single.

Not getting what I’m saying?

Let me clarify. You know when you have a crush on somebody, and that somebody is holding up their portion of the conversation in a very clever, witty,  and charming manner… Yet, despite the precedence, when it’s my turn to respond. I just vomit up some vaguely english based response (usually not relevant to the conversation.)

My sub-conscience generally decides that moments like this are best to follow up with an epic action. You know: food in the teeth, spilling something, falling into a bear trap, sharting yourself, eating your napkin, … skillz that would attract a mate.

But, it’s not just these in-person encounters that make having a crush easy. It’s also the utter and  total lack of knowledge about timing.

Being an aspiring comedian, I’m aware of how critical a well placed line can be, or how powerful …. silence…. can be.

Those rules and ideologies melt like soft shit in the rain when I start texting.

I generally continue in a spastic and incompetent manner until the battery on my phone dies… or I delete their number to keep myself from becoming a desperate texter…

But, I have great hopes for the future.

So, here’s to all the people out there like me. Here’s to you, future cat ladies… here’s to us!


So, I like to think of myself a fairly generous person; I’ve even been known to share noms on occasion… Food, fine, but I’m draw the line at toiletries. I found a pubic hair on my soap today.

Sick. Dear pubic hair, I don’t know how you got on my bar of soap, but never again. You might be thinking “well, couldn’t it be yours?” No, dear friends. I am a well groomed man. That shit be trimmed. No sprawling manscape for me. That leaves one other person in the household. Unless, of course, there is a burglar who breaks into apartments, uses peoples showers, and leaves pubic hair on their soap. Maybe the burglar is in cahoots with the vomit birds. Who knows?

But, I’m just thinking it’s safe to assume that my roommate is pubic’ing up my soap. I mean, dear roommate, I already know that you’re using my toothpaste because I am nearly obsessive about squeezing my toothpaste from the end. No squishing in the middle and separating the paste. You, on the other hand are a toothpaste smoosher. I always find my poor tube of toothpaste like an amorphous lumpy mangled piece of playdoh. Sad day.

How I leave my toothpaste:

Happeh Toothpaste! ^-^

How I find my toothpaste:

Saddey Toothpaste D:

I mean, feel free to use my stuff, but please be sneaky about it.  Let me play the ignorant card. Nobody likes finding a big ole pube in the morning…. especially on your bar of soap. I mean, I suppose some people might like that little gem to greet them in the morning… but, unfortunately, it just made me feel nauseous and unclean. Soap is supposed to make me feel cleaner, right? Perhaps I’ll have to start protecting my defiled soap, and smooshied toothpaste… Cause I can’t have roommate (or the fabled pubic-soap burglar) skeevin’ up my bathroom stuffs.

Dear Puss,

So, this is not a post about my roommate but it made me lol so hard I just have to share with y’all.

I got a text from my sister today that said “Look at what mom’s cat did to her croc’s” with this attached photo:

How? just how?

My mom just threw her croc’s out… and the cat is going to the vet.

You know, I’ve been accustomed to doors for quite some time. I’ve opened them, closed them, painted them, unhinged them, broke them…  and, why, I’ve even ran straight in to them. So, I’ve always thought I had a pretty good handle on the operation of a door. Wrong. Fail again. Jeremy, you really need to just stop functioning altogether. Sincerely, life. ❤

So, my roommate, in his infinitely superior door knowledge left me, the entrance neophyte, a little hint (an operators manual so to say) on how to operate one of the most confusing of all doors: a screen door.

And to think for the past, oh say, 18 years of my door opening career I’ve been pawing aimlessly at the door screaming until it opened. What luck!!! All I have to do is lift the hook thingy out of that loop on the wall?!?

For my entire life I’ve only been able to use doors that:

  1. Are already open
  2. Somebody opened for me or
  3. Open automatically

This is generally how I have to handle a door that is not one of the above three:

I now have great hopes to conquer those doors that have turny handles on them. Wish me luck, dear friends. Wish me luck.

Mustard 4 meh

Hello friends of the intrawebz!

So, I know that most of us have had, at least at some point, a roommate in their live. And, not all of said household compatriots have been, how should we put this in the most delicate way possible… normal?

Said roommate seems great at first, maybe a little quirky but quirky is good, right? After all, nobody likes  bland world… Perhaps the roommate was your best friend at some point. Frendz 4eva, right? Wrong. No. Greatest err in your thinking. U fail. Normal is pure win, but you are now stuck with strangest person. Ever. <– (please note the definite use of a period)

Welp, I worked as an RA (resident assistant) for the university for three years. I figured with my experience with roommate mediation, building community, and constructive criticism that I could conquer any roommate… and yet another err in my thinking. Thanks genetics that I’m bald… with my rate, thus far, of successful thought processes I’m not even sure I could comb my own hair.

Anyway, the purpose of this little blog is two fold.

  1. Allow me (and hopefully you) a venue to in which release our frustrations of said roommate.
  2. Approach the whole situation with a little bit of humor. I mean, we’re stuck with this character for the next few months… (Pretty sure the word “lease” is a synonym for “temporary death to sanity”)

The current roommate that I posses isn’t terribly weird, creepy, or even aggressive. He’s awkward. How do I handle somebody being awkward without it being awkward? (Arrrrg, insert infinite loop.) So, instead of addressing the situation like I should. I’ve decided to exploit this whole awkward turtle instead of waking the dramallama.

My roommate’s annoying behavior: he asks me the most bizarre questions. Which is what I will be posting, his strange questions. With a little drawing in paint of my thought process.

Question I received half an hour ago: (Preface: I am 23, he is in his late 20′s)

“Hey, how do you wash your hair? Do you use your fingers or, like, how do you wash your head?”

….um, what?

“Lather, rinse, repeat” has been the technique that I have grown accustom to. Most people use their hands but I suppose you could use a fork and dish-soap, or a spoon and detergent, or a crumpled piece of paper and some Windex, OR a pineapple and syrup,  OR, OR, OOR a small furry critter of sorts and motor oil, ZOMG the endless possibilities!!!11!one! What have I been doing only using my hand or the occasional brush and shampoo?!!3lD

Needless to say, I await tomorrows cleaning with great anticipation!

What sort of fantastical combination are you planning on tryin’ out?