1. “Stop exploiting me. If I could, I’d shit all over your dumbass blog.” -Hank Robert Beaver
2. The first knuckle of my fourth finger pops every time I shake someone’s hand with any real firmness. Does this make me less of a man? Or, is it my boyish figure and high-pitchedness?
3. Whenever someone that’s not an idiot says “great minds think alike” I try and remember to respond with “I was just about to say that.”
4. I’ve rediscovered my love for hibachi-style japanese food. This guy was my chef at my most recent visit to Tokyo in Green Hills:
This is my kind of chef. A true renegade, slinging rice and shrimp and zucchini and fire with wreckless abandon, nearly singing my eyebrows in the process — but in total control all the while. The consummate pro, too, putting on one hell of a show for the only five people in the restaurant at 2 on a Monday afternoon.
The three forty-something ladies across the table were less impressed, however, as they were too busy discussing recent developments surrounding the ringleader’s ex-husband. According to her, “if you’re texting someone to stroking your penis it’s a good sign you were molested.”
Not necessarily… Either way, check please!
5. A funny exchange between Lindsey and me:
Lindsey: (opening a bag of Skittles as I sit next to her with a vodka-soda in hand) You ever think about dropping one of these in there? I bet it’d taste good.
Me: That reminds me of something my friends used to do in high school… are you too young to remember Zima?
Lindsey: Sure… the Warrior Princess?
Me: No, idiot.
6. Sometimes I watch Pawn Stars. From time to time, the store owners have to bring in experts on sports memorabilia, military artifacts, classic cars, etc., to weigh in on certain items. When this happens I always think about how there’s nothing in the world for which I’d ever be called on to offer any expertise. Then, I get sad.
7. I’d like to have written an episode of The Jeffersons in which Mrs. Jefferson plucks her eyebrows too thin, and upon seeing her, George says “Whoa! Easy on the tweezy, pleasy, Weezy!”
8. Terms/phrases seemingly only used in sports commentating vernacular:
“death by a thousand paper cuts”
“presence of mind” (thanks, Mike!)
Surely there are more, right?
9. Okay to leave on the floor at Logan’s Roadhouse: my peanut shells. NOT okay to leave on the floor at Logan’s Roadhouse: my urine, apparently.
10. They’re building a house across the street from me, which means I wake up every morning at daybreak to them hammering away like crazy. Do these guys not know that it makes everyone within earshot miserable or do they simply not care?
Man, I’d like to show up outside one of THEIR houses one morning an hour before their alarm goes off and start nailing something — like their wife, maybe.
11. I’m probably going to ask my dad to NOT read today’s post.
12. Speaking of houses, the house I’m planning to buy just passed its home inspection with flying colors. So, assuming it appraises to the bank’s approval I’ll be moving in by the end of next month.
Here’s a few shots of the finished part of the basement, which used to be a recording studio:
If I choose not to resurrect the studio, I’m thinking I could always rent the space out to a local low-budget porn production company. Hell, it’s already got dim lighting, a makeshift stripper pole, and a murphy bed… how hard could it be to track down a couple of horny dudes and a barely legal girl with daddy issues?
13. Yeah, I’m definitely going to ask Dad to skip this post.
Have a great weekend,