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It’s ‘nog season! Eggnog-flavored ice cream. Eggnog-flavored shakes. Eggnog-flavored cookies. Eggnog-flavored…uh, milk. I love it! After the presents, paid holidays, food, football, time spent with loved ones, football, and Christmas lights, eggnog is my favorite part of the holiday season. Why is ‘nog limited to only four weeks of the year? I could very easily drink eggnog everyday of the week, year-round. So sweet. So thick. Mmmnn…need more eggnog. Why must the world deprive us of this wonderful flavor 11 months of the year? It’s just not fair.
After watching “Crystal Skull” this week and realizing I was too hard on it the first time around, it got me wondering if there have been other misevaluated movies I’ve seen. I couldn’t tell you the last time I walked out of a movie theater thinking “wow.” It might’ve been “Thank You For Smoking” but it’s been so long, who knows?
Up until my early-mid-20s, I liked pretty much everything I saw in theaters (I somehow remember enjoying “Red Planet” for cripes’ sake). I never thought of myself as an artsy guy. I don’t look for symbolism or meaning in movies–I like popcorn flicks…even though I never buy popcorn. The point is, . . . . .
The company Christmas party is coming up and we’re feeling the affects of a fleeting economy: we went from a catered affair to a potluck dinner. On top of that, my employer is requiring a $5 donation to attend the Christmas party. They told us they’re collecting the money for a charity to “help those less fortunate than us.” While I suppose technically, it’s a ‘good’ cause I’m still very uncomfortable with it. This isn’t just because I don’t believe in charity–I really don’t like the idea of being forced to donate. The loophole around this is probably that this isn’t a required event and attendance isn’t mandatory. But I know if I spend the afternoon in my office, it’ll be a bad PR move. What right do the party planners have to say there’s other people in more need of money than me? I have about $3 of disposable income every month–people should be collecting donations for me. I get paid jack squat. My rent goes up. The cost of food goes up. The cost of gas goes up. Why doesn’t someone pass the hat around for me?
One time I was having lunch with The Wife at Wienerschnitzel . . . . .
It’s official: The Wife is legally mine (I initially penned that line “The Girlfriend”–old habit do die hard). She received her new social security card this week with her new last name–mine. And since she has my name on her that makes her my property. That’s not chauvinistic–it’s life. Kinda like when you’re a kid and you write your name on your football. You do it so everyone knows it’s yours. I’m not going to take a Sharpie and write on The Wife’s forehead, but that doesn’t change the fact she has my name and is now my property.
I’m hardly an expert and there’s a good chance I don’t even know what I’m talking about–but that’s never stopped me from giving my opinion. With that in mind, I think I’m opposed to a potential government bailout of US automakers. It’s my taxes and I don’t wanna see it wasted. I know we’re talking about putting a lot of people out of work–but I don’t see why the US government has to save a company that pushes products no one wants. That’s all it really comes down to. Isn’t the whole point of capitalism and free markets about letting the . . . . .
I recently wrote about my spouse and referred to her as “The Girlfriend.” Now that we’re married, I probably should start calling her The Wife…but I’m not sure I like it. While, technically, it is her new title–it just feels weird. Not to have a wife–I’m okay with that–I just don’t like the idea of changing someone’s name. The Girlfriend is embedded in me. It rolls off the tongue. Whenever I look at my beloved, I see “The Girlfriend.” It’s kinda like when a long-time friend decides he’s no longer Robert and wants to be called Roberta. As much as you wanna honor their wishes, old habits die hard. It’s gonna be tough, but I’ll do it. Besides, if I keep calling her The Girlfriend it’s going to get complicated when I get a mistress.
I hate computer geeks. These tech guys…they’re just so pathetic. They’re obsessed with technology. Not practical technology–just raw numbers and specs. It’s all about the latest and greatest with computer geeks. Old is always bad…even though 95 percent of the population would be perfectly content with five-year old technology. They’re all like some sorta bad cliché.
I took a computer repair class this fall (not . . . . .
One of the side effects of marriage is having to share a bed with someone, which means my minor snoring problem has become a full-fledged nightmare to my beau. I don’t understand what the big deal–I sleep just fine. But The Girlfriend insists that my snoring problem is keeping her from having a productive night of sleep (she’s threatened to smother me: if we don’t resolve this problem soon, I fear I might wake up dead).
She tried earplugs at first–squishy little buggers that have no definite shape or form but were endorsed by airport personnel. Apparently my snoring rivals a 747 because even with the plugs in, The Girlfriend gets no sleep (and I hear about it in the morning).
The next step in this process was Breathe Right™ strips. I’m sure you know what it is–a little piece of plastic enclosed in an adhesive bandage-type strip one wears over their nose. The purpose of this strip is to pull your nostrils wipe open and widen the path air flows through the nose. I don’t know what sorta trademark or copyright restrictions these things have, but they are very much taking advantage of a monopoly. Millions of sleep-depraved spouses . . . . .
I have spent way too much time over the past couple weeks talking about politics. Sure, it’s a subject that fires me up–and I guess it’s best to write about something you care about–but that’s not the kinda writer I wanna be. I like writing about funny stuff. I like telling amusing, lighthearted stories with my own slanted view on society. So enough with the gloom, doom, and negativity–let’s talk about something fun.
From the “it could only happen to me category,” lemme tellya about the snafu I somehow managed to get caught up in with my landlord. I learned a long time ago I’d much rather have something do something automagically than be held responsible to remember to do it myself. It’s not so much because I’m forgetful…I just sorta get distracted and ignore responsibilities for something more amusing. Either that, or I’m lazy. In any case, it’s all automatic for me. Programming the VCR to record shows (back when I had a VCR) even if I planned on staying home to watch them (ya know, just in case). My phone is “programmed” to change to “audible” every night just in case I fall asleep with it on vibrate. . . . . .
The elections might be finished–but I’m not. I’ve been complaining a lot about politics lately because politics is “in” nowadays. So before I return to the usual complaints and irritations, I have to get something else off my chest: people are stupid. Beyond stupid. To call people morons would be an insult to morons everywhere. No one has a dime of common sense. I simply cannot believe the stupidity in the world. People have no sense of cause and effect. Action and reaction. I don’t know how I can live in a world with people that are just so damn stupid. They make it worse for people like me–the nonstupids.
On Tuesday, California voters passed many wide-ranging measures–all of which have significant dollar amounts attached to them. “We” approved of $2 billion to go to children’s hospitals. “We” approved of $10 billon for a high speed train to connect LA and SF. I reluctantly used the word “we” because unfortunately, I get lumped together with these pinheads–but trust me, these are not measures I would have approved.
Meanwhile, Thursday–not even 48 hours after the polls closed–the governor announced that California is in serious debt and proposed a $4 billion tax . . . . .
The early results are in and I’m sad. Just when you think our society is willing to accept, you see the prejudice that resides in people’s hearts. As of now, Prop 8 is failing–54 percent to 46. It’s early–but the race is nowhere near close. I’m surprised by the results–I assumed it wouldn’t pass–but I guess that just goes to show you everyone’s opinion is different.
I really thought this thing would fail. It feels like our society is becoming more tolerant of gay people. I figured intelligent folks would see through the misleading and negative ad campaigns. And yet here we are, another civil liberty denied.
Prop 8 passing means one of two things:
1) People truly aren’t open and accepting of homosexuals. Sure, they might say all the right things in public. But when it comes to anonymous private opinions, people hate the gays. That’s the only reason I can think of to deny them the same opportunity that’s available to everyone else. Either that…
2) Either that or people are truly stupid. The television campaigns focused on the children. Everyone always wants to protect the children. The quickest way you can get anyone’s emotions riled up is . . . . .
When I came of age and cast my first ballot, I considered myself a Republican. Even though I despised the morality police tactics of the GOP, I believed in the Republican perspective with money and government. I always thought that you should work for what you get and get what you work for. Welfare, food stamps, and charity were all things I despised because I believed they catered towards the lazy and invited corruption. But above all, Democrats really pissed me off.
That’s why this pains me.
Now that I’m a full-fledged member of the workforce, I realize politics and government isn’t as simple as black and white (despite the fact our politicians only seem to know how to vote for partisan issues). I went to college. I work 40 hours a week. I feel like I’m doing my time…yet I feel like I can’t get ahead in this world. I doubt I’ll ever earn/save enough to buy a house. Having children will be a major fiscal strain. I’m trying to do all the right things I was taught to do as a kid. I got an education and a white collared job. And yet I’m making practically the same . . . . .
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