Will that be one Ka-Boob or two?

Eric sent me a rather aggressive email recently asking why I haven’t made a blog post in a while… I have no good answer.

I’m legally blind. My contacts prescription is -7.25 and -6.75.

Okay, that tidbit, or tad-bat (if you are Valerie while trying to say tid-bit as you are waiting in line for free chocolates from the geriatric ward… aka See’s Candy) was mostly two fold: 

A.) to make you feel bad for me and a little less angry for not writing for a while and... 

B.) as a diversion and/or procrastination tactic

Right now I am sitting in the passenger seat driving to Vegas. I am seeing how long it will take me before I get violently road sick while writing this post.

So far; so good.

I find it fitting that I write a memory involving Eric as he was the motivating factor to getting my blog on again; if you will.

Best friend Eric and I go way back. And I mean waaaay back… back to the days of floating down the river in an inner tube in our overalls. Well, at least that’s how long it feels. Now that I think about it, I’m pretty sure we actually met in a 9^th grade gym class. He was the new kid on the block, and I thought I was too cool for school whilst wearing my pooka shell necklaces an all, so needless to say our friendship didn’t really start then either; obviously. (I promise I’m a better person now.) 

To tell you the truth I’m not rightly sure the point where we became best friends, our next attempt at friendship was also rocky. We had an English class together. Which I believe is a good time to interject that our teacher, I’m about 98.90% sure, was a underground Nazi cult leader or professional child snatcher. No joke, this woman had a complete bottom desk drawer full of knives. She also recommended me to read a book for a report and when I went to the library to check it out the librarian got all wide-eyed and asked why on earth I was looking for that book. I was then informed it was banned from all school libraries as “too pornographic”… yeah, thanks for that one teach.

Wow, tangent.

Where was I? Oh yeah, Eric and I round two.  So he sat in front of me in my class and after about a week into it, he made me sign a contract saying that I would not put my feet up on his desk, or sprawl out my arms onto his desk when I would take my post lunch nap during the Nazi propaganda lectures by said teacher.

Okay, I’m not making a strong case here, but suffice it to say - we are best friends now… and that’s all that matters.

Eric even got me a job at the restaurant he worked at. Which I’m not sure was the most productive decision ever made, putting us both in the same work environment and all, but none the less it made for some awesome stories along the way.

One night, a sassy lady (and not the good kind of sassy) came up to us asking for something as her son tagged along behind her while looking as white as a ghost. He was trying to get his mom’s attention but she kept ignoring him and insisted on assaulting us with request after request.

Then it happened.

The boy could be ignored no more… mostly because he began to vomit, and lets get real, vomiting gets anyone’s attention – which come to think of it, is probably the only reason why Mariah Carey is having a baby.  Twins nonetheless. That’s like twice the vomiting, and thus twice the attention. That makes more sense than the disturbing alternative like that she actually wants to have offspring. Something to ponder. 

Another random fact about me; I do not do well with smells and have frighteningly sensitive gag reflex. Eric looked over to me after the kid vomited right in front of us and the first words out of my mouth were, “Um yeah, you are going to want to clean that up unless you want to clean up mine as well as his.” Now I’m not going to say that that was the best thing to say as the mom is still standing right in front of us, but she just looked over with those annoyingly needy eyes as if to say, “Well what are you waiting for, clean that.”

Eric is a good man; he took care of it while I stayed at the opposite end off the restaurant while trying not to dry heave myself that evening as the event kept replaying in my head.

Another night that we were working and a sweet old lady was looking over the menu and looked up at me while Eric was next to me and asked, “Now what’s your chicken ka-boob?” Call it immaturity, but I dare any one of you to keep straight face if a grandma came up to you and starts asking you to describe, and question you about the quality of your ka-boobs,

 “… and is that one ka-boob or two?"

Nigh unto impossible.

Morals of Post:

• Everyone should be Eric’s best friend. It’s kind of like having two drinks come out of the vending machine when you only pay for one, or kind of like finding a $20 bill in the gutter and having no one around watching, allowing you to not feel morally awkward taking it and spending it on two days worth of Chinese food in a row.  Yeah, it’s a lot like that.

Sure Way to Die

As I was walking in the parking lot I found it quite curious to find this car parked in the handicap parking space. There are a couple reasons I why find irony in this...




A. I had to ask myself, What on earth is ' E q u e s t r i a n  V a u l t i n g ' ?

LUCKILY, the owners of the vehicle foresaw the confusion that would ensue the reading of said title/club and provided us with a decal to explain...



Oh yeah, you're right; now it makes perfect sense.

B. What I've gathered from context clues and available imagery is that this is a renegade group (cult) that may or may not kidnap you in the night, pull you up on a Clydesdale, and when you've reached galloping speeds on the horse they will lift you up and throw you off of the horse... into the air. Mercilessly.

I'm not going to lie, my palms are sweating just thinking about it.

As you know, I'm not one to jump to conclusions... but lets just say I'm not too surprised that the owner of such a sticker on their rear windshield would also have a handicap sticker nearby.

I am surprised however that the driver is even in any condition to drive and does not have a full on body cast lying on a gurney somewhere - handicap parking seems pretty optimistic to me.

Moral of the Post:

• WHO IN THEIR RIGHT MIND WOULD EVER COMBINE TWO "MOST LIKELY TO DISABLE AND/OR PARALYZE" SPORTS INTO ONE?
  
  GYMNASTICS + EQUESTRIANISM + AT THE SAME TIME = SURE WAY TO DIE!
  
  This could quite possible be the worst application of synergy known to man.
  

Update:  This post was off the market for a while due to the amount of hate mail that I received from a certain "dance-on-top-of-horses" community. I actually even heard from one of the instructors and/or founder who was really nice - so I would definitely recommend taking classes from whoever it was if ya'll are interested. 

It was just the rest of the tight knit (and google savvy) members that let me have it! But I have waited a sufficient amount of time to repost this and I believe that it has been enough time that all those involved have surely had an equestrian mishap and have most likely moved on to meet their maker. So... we're baaacckkk.

UTUBE.

My family all got together for a family dinner the other night and my mom called me into the office. When I walked in I found her sitting at the computer with a frustrated look on her face...

Now this might be a good time to explain how computer illiterate my parents are. Lets just say they are about as talented with the computer as Nicolas Cage and Brendan Fraser are as actors.

All of the above; painful to watch.

"Hey Hawk, how is it that you get to YouTube again?"

I looked over at the computer screen and saw a myriad of things that had gone terribly, terribly wrong.

First of all, my parents only use Internet Explorer. When they first started using it it looked like any other regular ol' Internet Explorer browser, but now it looks like a 13 year old girl's web browser. The toolbar at the top has somehow quadrupled in size and now contains everything from 'definitions of the day' to an emoticon library. After interrogating both of my parents separately about this, they both blamed the other for the additions and for being the reason the computer was so slow nowadays.

I look over only to see that my mom has typed utube.com in the box where you put your zip code to find out the weather, typed utube.com in the 'find' function that searches the browser's page, and last but not least typed utube.com in the horoscope box where you type in your month of birth (all of which, might I add, can be found on one of the 9+ toolbars stacked up at the top of the browser).

With a little assistance...

"Well let's see. Click over here. And, um, go ahead and type youtube.com (u as in y-o-u) up here in this box... and hit enter."

The page loaded and read,

"TIME FOR AN UPDATE; THE VERSION OF THIS BROWSER DOES NOT SUPPORT YOUTUBE!"

Wow, now even YouTube was taking shots at my mom.

[awkward silence]

I finally open up a Firefox window for her and get her all settled in, and I show her the little box that she can use to find the video she is looking for.

This is what I watch her type...

That was all I could handle with a straight face. So, I left her to her skydiving...

...and I guess we'll never know.

Moral of Post:

• My mother is infinitely more hip than I will ever be; don't be fooled by her lack in YouTube query skills. Lest we forget, this is the woman who introduced me to the 'Don't cha wish your girlfriend were hot like me' song, same woman who has a cooler iTunes library than I do and most likely ever will, and the same woman who tells me what music videos I should check out... of which I usually end up taking credit for when I show them to my friends.
  

Why I Hate Voicemail

Well, I have a problem...

I'll even admit it.

I just tried leaving a message on someone's voicemail. Ten minutes later, I look down and see this on my phone.

glaring back at me. 

#2#3#2#3#2#3#2#3#3#3#2#3#2#3#2#2#3#2#3#2#3#2#3#2#3#2#2#3#2#3#2#3#2#3#3#3#2#3#2#3#2#2#1#3

 Morals of the Post:

• Does my voice REALLY sound like that?!
  
• And yes, all my messages really ARE urgent and confidential... deal with it.

Going Green One Decibel at a Time

I think I just heard someone in Connecticut open a Sun Chips bag.

Moral of Post:

• Not only great for composting; but I'm willing to bet a pretty penny or two that this is going to be the new hipster's rape whistle.

Unfortunate Update: Hipsters you are out of luck (yet again); they are discontinuing the Sun Chips eco friendly bags, but lucky for you they'll be vintage in a month... so stock up.

Reason #495 for Treadmills

Do you ever drive past people that are running on the sidewalk and think,

'Wow. Do I look like that when I run?!'

[self conscious panic]

Moral of Post:

• I haven't seen a run/strut like that since Hocus Pocus.
  
• That being said; I'd take a runner over a cyclist any day.

Text of the Week

Some texts completely make your day. This was one of them.

Morals of Post:

• The International Paruresis Association, estimates that 17 million Americans suffer from some form of Shy Bladder Syndrome.
  
  
• Like any best friend would do... I thought about putting together a "Shy Bladder Walk" or "Shy Bladder Marathon" for the cause; but then I thought, maybe I'll just 'Google' for a cure... results were more than I could have ever hoped for... here is an excerpt.  I dedicate this to you Addi.
  
  "... offers a three-day workshop for shy bladders, held monthly in cities in the United States, Canada, and Great Britain. It costs $300 to attend. The first day is a group counseling session. During the second day, attendees gorge themselves on water and then, in pairs, practice voiding in their hotel bathrooms. In this exercise, one man stands at the toilet while a partner stands a comfortable distance behind him. As the first man begins to urinate, his partner inches closer, eventually standing directly behind the man, sometimes touching or razzing him as he urinates, to re-create the feel of a busy public restroom. The closing event of the workshop, which Soifer calls the "graduation ceremony," is held in a bathroom at a train station, airport, or, occasionally, a ballpark." - Bryan Curtis; Slate Magazine
  
  What the... I'm pretty certain that if someone snuck up behind me at a urinal and started touching me I would be more than a little shy too (not to mention really creeped out)... but hey, that's just me.
  

Chili Pepper and Pie

So I have a group of friends that I met at a concert a few years ago, and due to the fact that we stood in line together in below freezing cold weather for hours - and had to huddle for warmth to keep from freezing to the sidewalk we were standing on - we became really close and have been friends since. Each have gone on their own ways these days ... Texas, India, DC, etc... but when the stars align, and we finally get together in one location; magic happens.

One star aligned night, were finally able to get together and we were trying to figure out where we wanted to go to catch up - it was getting pretty late and Lianne was having a pie craving so she suggested Village Inn (Now if you are keeping a running log of red flags in this post, this may be a good place to start.)

We pull up to Village Inn and the place is packed! Riddle me this, when in the history of time has there ever been more customers than employees at Village Inn...

?!

Not to mention there are about 7 police vehicles parked in the parking lot, so it is safe to say that there was either a drug bust going down that we were about to walk right into, or the entire police workforce was on a doughnut break - crime can wait for ten right? So we cautiously make our way in and ask for a table. The hostess took us over to a section where there was absolutely no one and sat us down in a booth.

A little while later, out of nowhere, appears Katie* our waitress (a walking and breathing red flag) there is not enough blog space on the world wide web to adequately describe Katie but suffice it to say that on the busiest night in Village Inn's history - she is captain and master over a section with only one booth.

Turns out that every Wednesday they give out free pie with any purchase (hence the busyness) so we all ordered something little to qualify for the free pie. Oddly enough, that wasn't even the best surprise of the night.

Enter: Chili Pepper

So while our waitress is talking to us this other girl comes up and just starts shooting the breeze with us like we are old friends - now, she isn't a waitress nor had a name tag so we were all somewhat confused as to who this new mystery best friend was. When she came up to our table she pointed at me and the first words out of her mouth were, "Straight up dude, you look like Pete Wentz!" Then she proceeded to give us a personal invitation to watch her, Chili Pepper... you heard me, Chili Pepper, cage fight at the Throwdown arena. She then gave us a handwritten invitation to the fight.

May I repeat... ?!

As Chili Pepper was leaving our waitress came back and asked if we needed anything else - we said we were okay at the moment and she let out a huge sigh of relief and said - and I quote - "Good, because I really need to go take a dump." At that moment, my brain immediately hit that button where you get a 3 second replay of whatever just happened to make sure that, in fact, that did actually just happen. I looked around to Christine, Lianne, and Dave and asked, "Did I just..." "Yeah, you did..." "Ah, Okaaaay... good?"

We finally get some time to start catching up when guess who comes over to visit us again, the waitress you ask? (Afraid not... lest we forget she is still in the bathroom - and by the sound of her sigh, she might be there for a while) my friend, and yours, Chili Pepper. So Pepper, still freaked out by me looking like Wentz, comes up and asks me to do some random sequence of signs, like kissing my fingers and pounding them to my chest and throwing them back out... by this time we are trying are hardest not to laugh, but its also one of those moments that you start looking around the restaurant to see who is hiding around the corner recording you.

So naturally I oblige with the signs and she finally leaves, only to come back seonds later with a deck of cards that she wants to gift us so we could play egyptian rat screw (which I found out has another name, which I'll spare you) if we get bored. Ya know, like you do.

As Pepper left, yet again, our waitress emerged from the shadows with Dave's food. As she sat it down on the table and gave it to Dave she also manhandled all of the silverware, plates, and drink with her bathroom hands... Me, Lianne, Christine all look at each other, then at the food and silverware, then back at Dave as Christine chimed in, "Well Dave... Bon Appetit"

So just when you think it can't get any better... oh it does.

So as we are all watching Dave eat we hear a crash against the glass that is next to our booth and we look over to see Chili Pepper hanging over the edge and asking for our numbers - you know, since we are best friends and all now. Christine was about to explain that she is only visiting from Texas, but I beat her to the punch - Christine's phone was on the table so I was like, "Hmmm, Christine your phone is just right here, you can add it real quick!" Christine shot me a look as her and Pepper exchanged numbers and we assured Pepper that we would get her number from Christine later...

So we decided that this night could not conclude without a picture with Pepper so she came over and insisted that she sit in the middle so we take a pic or two and then she says that she wants one with the girls so she goes over and wedges herself in the middle of Christine and Lianne. Meanwhile, I guess Pepper was running her hands through their hair while I fumbled around trying to figure out how to work the camera.

After the photo-shoot, Pepper pulls out her phone and starts showing us her tattoo designs and top ideas of what she wants to get. The contenders are:

• Top contender? Mushu. The dragon off of Mulan.
  
  
• Runner Up? Ra. The all seeing eye, and I quote, "You know like the eye that is Omni-pres-sien-tal-cien-seless... [fade out mumbling]

So desperately trying to change the subject we ask about her upcoming fight and asked if it were her first one that she had done. She was like, "No, I had another big fight, it was with my ex-fiance. I won." So when Katie drifted by from who knows where (because she had already told us earlier that we were the only table that she was helping) we asked for our checks so we could get the hell out of there!

When we escaped outside we couldn't believe all that had happened and decided that 'wtf' should be the theme of all the times that we get together because every single time we do, it just gets more and more ridiculous...somehow we attract it. Finally, a group of others who are haunted by awkward as fiercely as I am.

For the next few months Christine would get all sorts of text messages from Peppa... here are just a few.

Morals of Post:

• Magical things come out of concerts.
  
• Even more magical things come out of Village Inn.
  
• I love food, this we know... but no amount of free pie will ever get me to go back.

Sunday Reflections

I would rather live in a communist country and be forced to labor in the Carni industry operating a tilt-a-whirl for the rest of my life than ever become a Miley Cyrus fan. 

That being said, sadly when her song is on the radio... I nod my head like yeah, and I shake my hips like yeah...

Moral of Post: 

• Sundays are obviously for deep thinking.

Better Safe Than Sorry

I was in the grocery store when I came across this fun little scene.

The first time I walked by this woman, bless her heart, I had one of those moments where your brain is trying to assess the situation and is desperately trying to circle the item that doesn't belong. It wasn't until after I had passed her that I realized; yes, yes that grandma is wearing a helmet and yes, we are inside of a grocery store.

So naturally I had to go back to get some 'chips' in order capture the moment.

Morals of the Post:

• Really, how dangerous is the deli meat aisle?
  
• I was slightly tempted to throw a grape at her helmet (you know, just to make sure the helmet was operating properly) but then I thought to myself, 'What if that were my grandma wearing a helmet in the deli aisle... would I want someone throwing grapes at her?" After thinking about that for a minute... I realized, "My grandma would NEVER wear a helmet to the grocery store... ever." So I kinda got tempted again.

Burn

Little boy passing me in the parking lot: "Hey dad... that guy has a purse."

Moral of Post:

• Little boy: 1  Man bag: 0

Road Rage and Uber Sized

I may be a pretty chipper person but I have found that there is one thing that is guaranteed to bring out the Mr. Hyde in me faster than anything else... driving with other people on the road.

No really... I could be having the best day of my life but the second that I get in the car and have to share the road with a bunch of people that maneuver their car like they learned to drive via Mario Kart or Rad Racer; it's game over.

When people drive like idiots on the freeway it's like I turn into an enraged/threatened savage she-bear trying to protect her young minus the fact that I, in fact, am not she-bear nor do I have any young.

Also, I have found that it is not only bad drivers that drive me insane but getting stuck behind slow drivers apparently has the same effect.

Here is a typical scenario...

I am driving while it is a 95 degrees outside and I think to myself... You know what, I'll take the freeway a little early today, which is typically under construction and usually down to one or two lanes all the time. This way I won't get stuck in traffic for hours on my way home...

Then I am gently reminded of the universe's poorly hidden vendetta towards me.

So as the lane goes down to one lane this is usually what I get stuck behind...

Turns out you can never be early enough on a freeway because the next thing you know, instead of traffic, you are stuck behind a slow car and trapped next to a house...

or the giant wing of a plane...

and then about five minutes later, the plane's other giant wing...

But this has to be the icing on the cake...

While on a road trip, after driving for hours and hours, we came up behind this guy and I thought, "Wow, I must either be really exhausted or absolutely starving... because - call me crazy - that kinda looks like a giant cheeseburger on the freeway that we are coming up on?!"

Oh wait, my bad; that IS a giant cheeseburger on the freeway.

Yes, that's right... a giant cheeseburger that takes up the whole bed of a semi truck.

And we wonder why there is obesity in America.

Morals of Post:

•  Things that I was unable to photograph fast enough while following them on the freeway: 
     
  - Mom duck and about six baby ducks waddling across the freeway in traffic.
  
  - Some giant mushroom-ish float for a 4th of July parade.
      
  - The pick up truck that had about 3x its height in stacked furniture and 'safely' secured with loose twine going 80 mph.
  
• For your information, I am still a better driver operating a camera whilst driving than about 93% of the jokers on the road with me. So don't even get me started!
  
• Update: Eric sent this to me today... I thought it was great, so I'm adding it.

"So in regards to your most recent blog post. I passed this guy on the freeway the other day. I wish I had a better shot, but what is in the back of this guy's truck are loaves of bread. Front and back, top to bottom; loaves of bread. Certainly not a giant hamburger but still weird."

Stage Fright with Rihanna

I went to dinner the other night at this great Italian place that I'd been to once before and had remembered these three things about it...

1. Best chicken pesto thin crust pizza you'll ever grace your taste buds with.

2. Incredible sea salted thin crust bread sticks with hummus.

3. Awesome modern bathrooms.

Now, being a creature of habit, I ordered the two menu items listed above and once again they did not disappoint; the bathrooms on the other hand...

I go to use the restroom and when I opened the door I was caught off guard by someone already in the bathroom staring me down....

this:

What the....

Never in my life have I walked into a bathroom with a glorified Chia Pet / effigy lurking in the shadows.

Frightening. Muy muy frightening.

Now, riddle me this... does this not look EXACTLY like a planty haired version of Rihanna?

No really, check it:

ONE AND THE FREAKIN' SAME!!

Suffice it to say that when you have Rihanna in the bathroom with you... there will be some degree of stage fright associated.

Moral of the Post:

• Disturbia, it's like the darkness is light
  Disturbia, am I scaring you tonight?

          Yes, stone faced-plant haired Rihanna... yes, yes you are. 

• Jan told me the other day that I have a greater brain capacity and use more brain cells than the average human being... but that unfortunately, those brain cells are used to detect inanimate objects that look like celebrities.
  
  I'm afraid I'm proving her right.

Japan Town

San Francisco Adventures Part II:

After pitching a campaign at Haagen-Dazs' headquarters we had the rest of the time to play around and explore the city.

Our friends ended up staying at a different place than us during the first part of the trip. I guess they had found a killer deal on a room at a hotel somewhere in Japan Town (red flag numero uno).

What's the second red flag you ask?

Hows abouts the fact that the name of the hotel was: Hotel Tomo! Anime Hotel.

Luckily we were able to hang out for a minute in their hotel one night... allow me to take you on the tour.


 Meet Hotel Tomo!

The ceiling of the lobby. This is what first slaps you in the face as you walk in... the giant pink hand floating above you.

Then we have lobby furniture. What you cannot see are the three television sets stacked on top of another playing anime movies to the left.

Here we have the blottoman... part blob + part couch + part ottoman and ALL swagger.

This is the mural on the wall of the bedroom. The girl painted on the wall is actually crying and has tears coming down her cheeks. I can only assume its because the stupid doves stole all of her mail and flew away with them. A lot of symbolism in this. Deep... really really deep.

Now here is the kicker... this is the only framed picture in the room.  My guess is that this is where someone can open it from the other side of the wall and you would NEVER know the difference. On a creepy level this guages at about 9.3 give or take .5

Each floor has bright neon walls and every door is a different color. When you walk out of the elevator it's kinda like old school zebra stripe gum meets carnival fun house meets the Winchester Mystery house.

Now when I said 'here is the kicker'... I lied. THIS is the kicker... as I was leaving the hotel I noticed a sign that said, "To check into the Sleep Disorders Center go to the lobby desk." Yes, if you suffer from sleep disorders, including Sleep Apnea, Insomnia, etc; you can be observed and treated here.

[blank stare]

Because nothing screams relaxation and sweet dreams like proven anxiety colors, peep holes, and traumatic murals all lulling you to sleep at night...

Morals of Post:

• Once again, if you are in the bay area...
  
• The only thing missing is the complimentary 'Chupacabra' in every room. Maybe next year?

A Gift for You

So my friend got a gift from Target online.

When you buy a gift from target online you can pay 6 extra bucks for them to wrap it.

My friend had an internal debate whether or not to pay to have someone else wrap a gift for her but figured that they would have cool ribbon, etc... and it would end up looking better than what she could have done with the stuff she had at home.

False.

Meet the worst gift wrapping non-job you have ever seen.

The gift came inside a bigger box that had no packaging peanuts or anything. Just a box inside another bigger box rolling around during its journey from China, or wherever, to here.

Another personal highlight of mine would be the fact that:

A. There was no tape. At all.

B. The ribbon. The ribbon, once wrapped around the box, actually is about 3 inches from even touching the other side of the ribbon. It looks more like a little tail for the box that they glued on. Or like the little streamer on the bottom of kites.

Fun? Yes.

Professional? H to the no.

Moral of Post:

      Gift... 50 dollars.

      Worst Wrap Job Ever... 6 dollars

      My friend still giving the gift and writing "A gift for you, only the best will do, this is the worst wrapping job, so if you got a problem... screw you." on the card provided...  Priceless