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I think we as a society would be much improved with the return of “Yo Mama” jokes. Harmless and non-malicious, “Yo Mama” jokes always seem to bring out the best in creativity, one-liners, and delivery. Two people can continuously insult each other…yet walk away good friends because of the innocent nature of “Yo Mama” jokes. They’re fun to say, fun to hear, and really bring people together. I think instead of hiring mediators to solve disputes, two people should simply spend 20 minutes exchanging “Yo Mamas.” Whatever conflicts they have are sure to be resolved after comparing the girth or liberated sexuality of two mothers. Guaranteed.
My distain for salads is well-known–but I’m not completely adverse to them. In fact, El Pollo Loco has a salad I quite like. It has cheese and tortilla chips in it. If more salads resembled nachos I probably wouldn’t be so opposed to greens. But they don’t, I do, and doughnuts will always remain my top choice as appetizers.
I’ve been trying to eat a tad bit healthier lately–which means more salads and less French fries. So yesterday at El Pollo Loco I order one of those crazy salads with tortilla chips. I’ve been . . . . .
Friday afternoon I was driving through a parking lot when it happened: some idiot backed his car into me. They say during traumatic experiences, things slow down for people. I remember sitting in my car watching it slowly happen–but I think the slowing effect was due to him going about three miles per hour. There was a green Lexus in front of me, also circling the lot for a spot. For reasons unknown to me, he stopped his vehicle and the reverse lights came on. The car started slowly backing towards me. I’m not sure why I didn’t honk the horn–probably because I didn’t believe what was happening before me. Dude had to have seen me–I was right behind him and it’s not like I came out of nowhere. Besides, what kinda idiot drives in reverse without looking behind him? Review mirror. Looking around. I figured he had to see me. Alas, he was as blind as I was wrong: even when he bumped me, I still couldn’t believe it was happening.
I didn’t know what to say or do, so I sat in my car contemplating my options. The guy was obviously an idiot but I wasn’t sure if . . . . .
Last week, The Girlfriend and I opted to spend a three-day weekend in San Diego. Not that San Diego is attractive to an Orange County resident as a tourist attraction. The weather is identical to home and they don’t have a basketball team (although we don’t have a football team). But with the wedding to plan, work to complain about, and baseball season being a month away, we just needed to get the hell out of dodge for a few days.
I generally don’t like the idea of paying for hotel rooms–not when I’m paying for rent at home. But luckily, I got a guy. A dear friend of mine works in the hotel business and he’s able to hook me up with cheap hotel rooms. He’s the manger of a national hotel chain and through him; I’m able to get rooms at this very prominent chain at the employee discount price. My buddy simply books the room for me and fills out the official, proper paperwork that states I–siknerd–am an employee of the hotel. Everything is legit since he is a manager…everything except for the part that says I work for the hotel.
The process is pretty routine. He . . . . .
I realized that recently I have been writing way too much about movies and televisions (probably because I haven’t done anything but sit and watch TV the past few weeks). Well enough is enough: I am implementing a new, self-imposed embargo on the movie business. Enough complaining, bitching, or nitpicking about Hollywood. If the writers can be on strike, I can too. Although technically, I wouldn’t be on strike. But that’s not the point–I need something else to complain about. I wonder what Sprint is up too…
I’d like to take a moment to announce that The Girlfriend has hereby officially been promoted to The Fiancee. I proposed to her on Monday and she said yes. Not there was any doubt. I must’ve made over a hundred marriage proposals throughout my years–but this was the first one where I had a ring (second where I knew the girl’s name). I knew she was going to accept because Monday was Martin Luther King Day–the most romantic and sexiest holiday of the year.
A lot of guys propose with bouquets of flowers and boxes of chocolates. They engineer the perfect, romantic evening. Luckily, I knew my gal wanted none of that. We . . . . .
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