This weekend I got the chance to have a little bro time in honor of the joining of two friends in the bonds of holy matrimony and everything that goes along with that...hehehe...see what I did there?
Sex
Anyways apparently when a bro gets marries it's only natural to have a throw on some camo...grab a gun that shoots little plastic balls of pain at fast-enough-to-leave-welts-speed and pretend you're at war. Paintball, while being pretty epic, is also a good team-building exercise and a good way to get really really really sore. But it truly was a blast of yellow paint...I know right?
Anyways after paintball I made the trek to Ruston, my old college town and had some more bro time, which included but wasn't limited to video games, good food, beer and rides on motorized two wheeled vehicles. While all that stuff was incredible and a great time...the conversations and just general being around guys that know me and genuinely care about my well-being was truly refreshing. The conversation hit every range that makes times like that so special to me...and also so very missed. There was a lot of laughing...some reminiscing...some seriousness...and the right amount of sarcasm, which is somewhere in the shit-ton category. All-in-all it really made me miss what I had in college. I consider myself indebted to a lot of those guys for passing along knowledge and wisdom and generally being so willing to make the sacrifices that friendship requires. I have learned so much from so many people and truly wouldn't be who I am today without them, and I am more grateful than I can show. Not to go into this woe-is-me-type-thing but it's not something that I've had in large quantities for a long time. Intentional conversations about the things that aren't always easy answers or fun topics but are essential to growth. Not saying that I don't have friends in Shreveport, I mean I've got a few and a girlfriend who is supportive of every spontaneous thought and ambition that jump into my head. But what I don't have is that sense of accountability and brotherhood that I was once surrounded by.
Life truly is and has been a journey and I am excited for what is to come. I think I'm finally beginning to accept this whole growing up thing. Sometimes it's easy to get consumed by current predicaments and the stresses of everyday life...but this weekend was a refresher that let me know that bros are for life and they won't forget about you...no matter what may come between you at certain times.
Monday, February 21, 2011
Monday, February 7, 2011
Dear Upstairs Neighbor
First of all what up?
Second of all could you think about not being a douche sometimes?
I mean...I realize that you really like your music and all, but don't you think that when I'm trying to do important things like watch the Harry Potter movies, one of the various television shows I repeatedly watch because I can't afford cable or...you know...sleep, that I don't want to feel your sub woofer pulsate in every orifice of my body. And when I bang on the ceiling with a wooden samurai sword that I keep by my bed in case there's a zombie-pocalypse to get you to shut the hell up, that doesn't mean that when you get home from IHOP or some bar that you can let the tunes blare again. Even in the rare occasion that you listen to something that doesn't sound like someone painted pictures of rabbits doing backflips using all the colors of the wind onto an old VHS tapes of Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, I still generally don't want to hear it.
Granted our floors are the approximate thickness of shopping cart wheels made out of wood, so there is virtually no insulation, but that's not enough of an excuse for your shenanigans that generally succeed in pissing me off to no end.
Also the other morning when you were yelling at whoever left their alarm clock set causing it to try and wake the missing person up for 2 and a half hours, I could hear you yelling better than the person who was clearly not sleeping through their alarm clock because they weren't there. Also you have done that at least 27 times and it never gets any less annoying. Modern day alarm clocks are scientifically engineered to pierce through every conscious and unconscious thought until it makes it's presence known.
But I have some good news for you upstairs neighbor...if we ever meet outside of the apartment I won't immediately hate you because I have no idea what you look like due to the fact that I have always been to scared to go tell you to shut the hell up. Not that I am scared of you...mainly just the entire confrontation. Also I won't be living there much longer so you might have a whole empty apartment to used as a sub woofer box. At least until someone new moves in. I really hope it's a huge MMA fighter who will promptly kick your ass at the first note of bad music. I also hope he steals your dog Maddison and takes care of it better than you do.
P.S. remember when you got the new Kid Cuddi album and you listened to "Day and Night" on repeat for at least 5 times in a row?
You do?
Yeah...that sucked!
Second of all could you think about not being a douche sometimes?
I mean...I realize that you really like your music and all, but don't you think that when I'm trying to do important things like watch the Harry Potter movies, one of the various television shows I repeatedly watch because I can't afford cable or...you know...sleep, that I don't want to feel your sub woofer pulsate in every orifice of my body. And when I bang on the ceiling with a wooden samurai sword that I keep by my bed in case there's a zombie-pocalypse to get you to shut the hell up, that doesn't mean that when you get home from IHOP or some bar that you can let the tunes blare again. Even in the rare occasion that you listen to something that doesn't sound like someone painted pictures of rabbits doing backflips using all the colors of the wind onto an old VHS tapes of Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, I still generally don't want to hear it.
Granted our floors are the approximate thickness of shopping cart wheels made out of wood, so there is virtually no insulation, but that's not enough of an excuse for your shenanigans that generally succeed in pissing me off to no end.
Also the other morning when you were yelling at whoever left their alarm clock set causing it to try and wake the missing person up for 2 and a half hours, I could hear you yelling better than the person who was clearly not sleeping through their alarm clock because they weren't there. Also you have done that at least 27 times and it never gets any less annoying. Modern day alarm clocks are scientifically engineered to pierce through every conscious and unconscious thought until it makes it's presence known.
But I have some good news for you upstairs neighbor...if we ever meet outside of the apartment I won't immediately hate you because I have no idea what you look like due to the fact that I have always been to scared to go tell you to shut the hell up. Not that I am scared of you...mainly just the entire confrontation. Also I won't be living there much longer so you might have a whole empty apartment to used as a sub woofer box. At least until someone new moves in. I really hope it's a huge MMA fighter who will promptly kick your ass at the first note of bad music. I also hope he steals your dog Maddison and takes care of it better than you do.
P.S. remember when you got the new Kid Cuddi album and you listened to "Day and Night" on repeat for at least 5 times in a row?
You do?
Yeah...that sucked!
Friday, January 28, 2011
Motorcycles and Mustaches
*This is a post from my tumblr which I have wholeheartedly decided to stop using
As of Thursday, October 298, 2010, I officially joined motorcycle riders everywhere by bringing home my very own Kawasaki Vulcan 500. Friday I was initiated into the club by exchanging “the wave” with another of the two-wheeled persuasion. For those of you who have no idea what I’m talking about, “the wave” is a form of greeting motorcyclists use to acknowledge each other when passing. A feeling of excitement and pride filled my body and soul as I shot a peace sign at the ground. The wave was promptly returned and thus began the first day of the rest of my life. Since that moment, all I’ve wanted to do is drive the blasted thing around, I get anxious when 3-o-clock rolls around because it means the work day is almost over and I can go riding. I feel like a stupid little kid with a new toy but I can’t help it.
I’ve just gotten to where I can go above 25 and not freak out because I’ve convinced myself my speedometer is wrong and I’m really traveling at least 95 down a neighborhood street. It really is a different experience though, and there are a lot of things I’m going to have to get used to. The main thing being the mentality that if someone hits me, oh well, my car is a piece of junk anyways so no harm-no foul. But now it’s a big-time foul because being hit means instant death, or at least a whole lot of pain. But as I’ve been stuck in my 4-wheeled cage it’s given me a lot of time to think about the benefits of being out in the open air, not surrounded by strong, protective steel specifically engineered to keep me safe in even the worst of collisions. For one thing it will force me to slow down and take my time when traveling places. I won’t be able to tail people who piss me off and I’ll have to drive defensively again. This should remove a large portion of anxiety and stress from my life because the majority of people seem to be awful drivers and I’ll have to stay on my toes to keep out of their way.
So in addition to slowing down my lifestyle, it’s also giving me the cool factor that I’ve been needing. While I’ll be the first person to admit, I’m pretty awesome. Allow me to take a second to list my best qualities. First I’m the funniest guy I know, second I’m a real charmer, third I’m a good test-taker, fourth I don’t have a ridiculous amount of body hair, and fifth I’m just plain awesome. So you might be asking yourself…self, I just don’t think he needs a cool factor; in fact he sounds pretty awesome to me. Well you’re right and you’re wrong. I am awesome but I’m just not that cool. I drive a 99 Oldsmobile Alero with scratches and dents all over it, and I can’t grow a proper beard. So along with adding the coolness of riding a motorcycle, I also grew a mustache, only to learn that I can’t actually grow a mustache very well. My father, on the other hand, who also rides a motorcycle, can grow a sweet-ass mustache and I figured, hey…I’m my father’s son so let’s give this a go.
Epic fail.
So I’m just going to have to take the points I get from the motorcycle and hope that it makes up for my quirkiness, inherent geekiness and lack of sufficient facial hair. So to all you motorcyclists out there…deuces to the ground and keep the rubber side down…to everyone else…please don’t run in to me!
As of Thursday, October 298, 2010, I officially joined motorcycle riders everywhere by bringing home my very own Kawasaki Vulcan 500. Friday I was initiated into the club by exchanging “the wave” with another of the two-wheeled persuasion. For those of you who have no idea what I’m talking about, “the wave” is a form of greeting motorcyclists use to acknowledge each other when passing. A feeling of excitement and pride filled my body and soul as I shot a peace sign at the ground. The wave was promptly returned and thus began the first day of the rest of my life. Since that moment, all I’ve wanted to do is drive the blasted thing around, I get anxious when 3-o-clock rolls around because it means the work day is almost over and I can go riding. I feel like a stupid little kid with a new toy but I can’t help it.
I’ve just gotten to where I can go above 25 and not freak out because I’ve convinced myself my speedometer is wrong and I’m really traveling at least 95 down a neighborhood street. It really is a different experience though, and there are a lot of things I’m going to have to get used to. The main thing being the mentality that if someone hits me, oh well, my car is a piece of junk anyways so no harm-no foul. But now it’s a big-time foul because being hit means instant death, or at least a whole lot of pain. But as I’ve been stuck in my 4-wheeled cage it’s given me a lot of time to think about the benefits of being out in the open air, not surrounded by strong, protective steel specifically engineered to keep me safe in even the worst of collisions. For one thing it will force me to slow down and take my time when traveling places. I won’t be able to tail people who piss me off and I’ll have to drive defensively again. This should remove a large portion of anxiety and stress from my life because the majority of people seem to be awful drivers and I’ll have to stay on my toes to keep out of their way.
So in addition to slowing down my lifestyle, it’s also giving me the cool factor that I’ve been needing. While I’ll be the first person to admit, I’m pretty awesome. Allow me to take a second to list my best qualities. First I’m the funniest guy I know, second I’m a real charmer, third I’m a good test-taker, fourth I don’t have a ridiculous amount of body hair, and fifth I’m just plain awesome. So you might be asking yourself…self, I just don’t think he needs a cool factor; in fact he sounds pretty awesome to me. Well you’re right and you’re wrong. I am awesome but I’m just not that cool. I drive a 99 Oldsmobile Alero with scratches and dents all over it, and I can’t grow a proper beard. So along with adding the coolness of riding a motorcycle, I also grew a mustache, only to learn that I can’t actually grow a mustache very well. My father, on the other hand, who also rides a motorcycle, can grow a sweet-ass mustache and I figured, hey…I’m my father’s son so let’s give this a go.
Epic fail.
So I’m just going to have to take the points I get from the motorcycle and hope that it makes up for my quirkiness, inherent geekiness and lack of sufficient facial hair. So to all you motorcyclists out there…deuces to the ground and keep the rubber side down…to everyone else…please don’t run in to me!
Thursday, January 27, 2011
New Blogs
So I tried to like and use tumblr...I even went as far as to try and convince myself that if I used an outlet that was hip and streamlined I would blog more.
Needless to say it didn't happen.
I also tell myself I would blog more if I had the internet at my apartment...but if I was honest it probably wouldn't make a lick of difference.
I just avoided going on a tangent about how the hell a lick could ever be a unit of measurement because I'm sure it's been done a million times before.
So I just got into this new blog thanks to my boss called hyperbole and a half, which is written by this chick who has no real job but somehow makes enough money by blogging to live on. She's effing hilarious.
More to come I promise!
Needless to say it didn't happen.
I also tell myself I would blog more if I had the internet at my apartment...but if I was honest it probably wouldn't make a lick of difference.
I just avoided going on a tangent about how the hell a lick could ever be a unit of measurement because I'm sure it's been done a million times before.
So I just got into this new blog thanks to my boss called hyperbole and a half, which is written by this chick who has no real job but somehow makes enough money by blogging to live on. She's effing hilarious.
More to come I promise!
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Dissapointment Rings so very Loud
During my daily perusing of the internet in the span between when I finish my show and when I make the sad, pitiful trek upstairs to actually booth my show, I came across this article from this online satirical web site that I like to keep up-to-date on about how awesome it is to work at Google. So I wondered to myself after reading the article...how awesome is it to work at Google?
I really wish I never knew the answer to that question...because it's freaking awesome!!!
Last week was a week of disappointment in the job search area. Things started with a call from a recruiter who excitedly wanted to tell me about an opportunity available in my area with the company she works for. So after the routine sending my resume and it slipping her mind that we had a phone call scheduled to further discuss the opportunity the next day...I got turned down for the job I hadn't even really applied for. It's almost like she went out of her way to get my hopes riding high on a group of balloons before hurling a handful of glass shards into their midst sending my hopes plummeting back down to depths in which they consistently stay these days. Then it seemed like fate when I met some people from another company, who was "hiring" and seemed to be an almost unbelievably good opportunity...turns out of course it was unbelievably good. After emailing my new acquaintances my resume with the promise to pass it along with good recommendations...the email from hr came saying they were not currently hiring but would keep my resume on file in case they needed some extra paper to wipe their butts with.
To top it all off the hiring agency I met with has been giving me the runaround for the past month so things are naturally looking pretty bleak. And to make matters worse Google's employees get to eat meals prepared by 5 star chefs for free and can play ping pong at work. While I can't even enjoy things like benefits and the accruing of vacation days. Some people get all the luck right. Even looking at my friends who have so far been fairly successful while I struggle away not to hope I get into an incapacitating car accident every morning on my way to work.
But a wise man once said the stone won't grind itself...or something like that...so I guess I'll just sit here and grind away at my pathetic stone until something better comes along...or until Google somehow discovers my brilliance and gives me job. Option B...become the second barefoot bandit but with my own gimmick of course...like maybe the ass-less chap outlaw or something.
It's always good to have a plan B...or so I've been told.
So here's my message to Google...I'm ready to hired but I won't pose naked. You know where to find me and if you don't...just look me up on...well...google.
I really wish I never knew the answer to that question...because it's freaking awesome!!!
Last week was a week of disappointment in the job search area. Things started with a call from a recruiter who excitedly wanted to tell me about an opportunity available in my area with the company she works for. So after the routine sending my resume and it slipping her mind that we had a phone call scheduled to further discuss the opportunity the next day...I got turned down for the job I hadn't even really applied for. It's almost like she went out of her way to get my hopes riding high on a group of balloons before hurling a handful of glass shards into their midst sending my hopes plummeting back down to depths in which they consistently stay these days. Then it seemed like fate when I met some people from another company, who was "hiring" and seemed to be an almost unbelievably good opportunity...turns out of course it was unbelievably good. After emailing my new acquaintances my resume with the promise to pass it along with good recommendations...the email from hr came saying they were not currently hiring but would keep my resume on file in case they needed some extra paper to wipe their butts with.
To top it all off the hiring agency I met with has been giving me the runaround for the past month so things are naturally looking pretty bleak. And to make matters worse Google's employees get to eat meals prepared by 5 star chefs for free and can play ping pong at work. While I can't even enjoy things like benefits and the accruing of vacation days. Some people get all the luck right. Even looking at my friends who have so far been fairly successful while I struggle away not to hope I get into an incapacitating car accident every morning on my way to work.
But a wise man once said the stone won't grind itself...or something like that...so I guess I'll just sit here and grind away at my pathetic stone until something better comes along...or until Google somehow discovers my brilliance and gives me job. Option B...become the second barefoot bandit but with my own gimmick of course...like maybe the ass-less chap outlaw or something.
It's always good to have a plan B...or so I've been told.
So here's my message to Google...I'm ready to hired but I won't pose naked. You know where to find me and if you don't...just look me up on...well...google.
Thursday, July 8, 2010
World Cup Commentary:
2010...the year of the world cup. I can't remember when I've had so much anticipation building for one single sporting event. The olympics...eh...don't get me wrong I love the olympics, but I LOVE the world cup. My main problem with the olympics is that it's basically America dominating every year at most every event. The most exciting thing that happened in the olympics recently was when Aquaman's illegitimate son, Michael Phelps, completely dominated and won every swim event ever.
But the world cup is not only much more fascinating, but also is unpredictable. I mean of course you're going to see soccer giants Germany, Spain, France, Italy, Brazil and Portugal in every world cup, and I'll even put the Netherlands on that list because they play in those wooden shoes and have the audacity to wear really orange jerseys, which has nothing to do with their nation's flag, I mean those jerseys are really really orange.
And then there's the good ole USA! Us with our obnoxiously big hats and proud fans with out nuclear bombs and big sticks. We stand firm with our hands on our hearts and watch our team pull itself out of pickle after pickle. It's like watching a soap opera but in soccer form. There's betrayal, love, screwing up, redemption, screwing up some more, and you never know if we'll close the deal or not. And all the while we wear those ugly jerseys and wish the 85% of our country that doesn't watch soccer would...well...watch soccer.
The only problem is I've watched a few MLS soccer games and they are terrible, like high school soccer terrible. No flair, no shining moments, just run-and-kick-soccer that I was bad at in the 7th grade. Ok enough about that...
So back to the world cup...this year we've had upset after upset and seen the underdogs win so much that it it's becoming the thing to do. We've seen a team go on strike...who knew they could do that...I mean if I was a national hero and made tons of whatever-their-currency-is I'd probably complain about unfair conditions as well. Italy probably had the ugliest jerseys ever to be manufactured anywhere, I'd swear they have the mark of a bald forehead on the chest to mark the ultimate shut-the-heck-up in sports history.
Once again FIFA hasn't quite been able to nail down a good system in choosing refs who won't make monumental failures of themselves in the middle of the pitch. I mean besides the American in me dreaming deep-fryingg the ref of the Slovenia and dropping him into the mouth of that thing in Star Wars: Return of the Jedi that eats Bobba Fette in the desert, I have noticed more just plain bad calls than...well...the last world cup.
But I'd have to say besides seeing my mighty Yanks in the finals, which would be a sheer disgrace to the world of soccer after seeing them play for 4 games, I'm not sure I'd have it any other way. I know I already mentioned my love for the mighty van-Dutch, but the fact that both teams are world cup holding virgins just makes everything so much sweeter. At the end of the day, history will be made and one country will see their world cup dreams come true. So the only question I have is where can I buy enough really orange body paint for me and my buddies.
But the world cup is not only much more fascinating, but also is unpredictable. I mean of course you're going to see soccer giants Germany, Spain, France, Italy, Brazil and Portugal in every world cup, and I'll even put the Netherlands on that list because they play in those wooden shoes and have the audacity to wear really orange jerseys, which has nothing to do with their nation's flag, I mean those jerseys are really really orange.
And then there's the good ole USA! Us with our obnoxiously big hats and proud fans with out nuclear bombs and big sticks. We stand firm with our hands on our hearts and watch our team pull itself out of pickle after pickle. It's like watching a soap opera but in soccer form. There's betrayal, love, screwing up, redemption, screwing up some more, and you never know if we'll close the deal or not. And all the while we wear those ugly jerseys and wish the 85% of our country that doesn't watch soccer would...well...watch soccer.
The only problem is I've watched a few MLS soccer games and they are terrible, like high school soccer terrible. No flair, no shining moments, just run-and-kick-soccer that I was bad at in the 7th grade. Ok enough about that...
So back to the world cup...this year we've had upset after upset and seen the underdogs win so much that it it's becoming the thing to do. We've seen a team go on strike...who knew they could do that...I mean if I was a national hero and made tons of whatever-their-currency-is I'd probably complain about unfair conditions as well. Italy probably had the ugliest jerseys ever to be manufactured anywhere, I'd swear they have the mark of a bald forehead on the chest to mark the ultimate shut-the-heck-up in sports history.
Once again FIFA hasn't quite been able to nail down a good system in choosing refs who won't make monumental failures of themselves in the middle of the pitch. I mean besides the American in me dreaming deep-fryingg the ref of the Slovenia and dropping him into the mouth of that thing in Star Wars: Return of the Jedi that eats Bobba Fette in the desert, I have noticed more just plain bad calls than...well...the last world cup.
But I'd have to say besides seeing my mighty Yanks in the finals, which would be a sheer disgrace to the world of soccer after seeing them play for 4 games, I'm not sure I'd have it any other way. I know I already mentioned my love for the mighty van-Dutch, but the fact that both teams are world cup holding virgins just makes everything so much sweeter. At the end of the day, history will be made and one country will see their world cup dreams come true. So the only question I have is where can I buy enough really orange body paint for me and my buddies.
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Realizations
So during my daily pity party I throw for myself where I try to get the crusty stuff out of my eyes, which I swear shouldn't even have time to dry in the 2 hour nap I take at night before work, I came to one very significant realization about why I don't like my job. Looking past the whole 3-in-the-morning-part-time-no-benefits-or-vacation-days thing I have figured out the secret to my dissatisfaction...ready?
Not quite huh?
Ok well here's a little more background then ...
So I really like to write and I used to think I would love to just sit around an do it all day. While all day aspect of that obviously isn't quite true I feel like I would still enjoy it ... wait a minute! That is sort of my job. I sit around and write what the anchors read during the news cast, and sometimes just take what the other producers write. So why in the everliving don't I like it you ask?
I wondered the same thing until this morning and then I realized that the writing I do is a cheap way to feed the beast that is the news. I feel like it takes me 2 minutes to write a news story, maybe more if I really try to put some oomph in it, and I have no room to put my personality in what I write.
I feel like all I'm doing to doing what I can to meet the deadline and then forget about it, instead of letting the creative juices flow through my finger-tips type of thing.
So I know you're asking yourself ... self ... what does all this mean?
It means, end of the day, I've still got it pretty good and the best part is I can do what I can to look for something where I won't get burnt out on one of my passions and trust that doors will open and opportunities will present themselves.
Oh and I side note ... the news is depressing which doesn't help my usually cheery, maybe slightly cynical, demeanor.
In closing ... ;) winky face
Not quite huh?
Ok well here's a little more background then ...
So I really like to write and I used to think I would love to just sit around an do it all day. While all day aspect of that obviously isn't quite true I feel like I would still enjoy it ... wait a minute! That is sort of my job. I sit around and write what the anchors read during the news cast, and sometimes just take what the other producers write. So why in the everliving don't I like it you ask?
I wondered the same thing until this morning and then I realized that the writing I do is a cheap way to feed the beast that is the news. I feel like it takes me 2 minutes to write a news story, maybe more if I really try to put some oomph in it, and I have no room to put my personality in what I write.
I feel like all I'm doing to doing what I can to meet the deadline and then forget about it, instead of letting the creative juices flow through my finger-tips type of thing.
So I know you're asking yourself ... self ... what does all this mean?
It means, end of the day, I've still got it pretty good and the best part is I can do what I can to look for something where I won't get burnt out on one of my passions and trust that doors will open and opportunities will present themselves.
Oh and I side note ... the news is depressing which doesn't help my usually cheery, maybe slightly cynical, demeanor.
In closing ... ;) winky face
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