A plan that doesn't make sense

Last night at work, probably around midnight, I was taking some metal folding stools out of a box and putting them on a shelf when I heard the unmistakable sound of an electric scooter. From behind me I heard, "Well, whatcha got there?" I turned around to see a tiny old man who was easily in his late 170s. He had a big smile on his face like he just ran into an old friend. "Just some folding stools," I replied. He let out an astonished "huh!" and then said, "I don't believe I've ever seen one of those before."

"Shit," I thought. This was going to be one of those conversations. Basically no conversation after midnight with a stranger in Wal-Mart is a normal one, and I figured this would be no different.

"Yep, just a stool that folds," I said, when I really wanted to say, "really? A stool? Never seen one of those before?" "Well, how does that work?" he asked. I unfolded it for him and he let out a loud laugh like I'd just done some amazing magic trick. That's when I realized that he wasn't some dumb old guy who hadn't quite grasped the concept of a stool. He was just lonely. He wasn't buying anything nor did he have any interested in a $10 stool. He just wanted to talk to people. And wanted people to talk to him. I felt bad, but I didn't really know what to do.

"Getting pretty cold out, huh?" I said to him. He smiled and then we had a ten-minute conversation about the weather until he noticed a couple walking by pushing a bike, which seemed like a good conversation starter for him. I finished my work and left them to their conversation.

This is the dumb thing about life and why I believe in nothing. This isn't the kind of life this guy is supposed to lead. This can't be the way he's supposed to finish out his existence. If this is all part of some master plan, it's not a very well thought out one. I just hope I don't get to the point where I have to pretend I've never heard of a stool just to have some sort of personal contact. Just to feel like I'm still a person.

Realism and you

Hope. I'd like to talk for a minute about hope. Hope is what everybody thinks you should have. Hope and a positive attitude. You don't even need anything else! Especially realism. You have hope and have a peachy outlook on the world? Well shit...you're all set, champ. Don't bother with this real world stuff. The path to wealth and happiness is laid before you.

And of course none of that is true. What's going to happen is going to happen regardless of how you feel about things and hope much you "hope" they go well. Don't confuse that with "everything happens for a reason." More on that and how much I believe that is also a huge load some other time.

Think of life as a big piñata. Every time you take a chance, go after an opportunity, try to achieve a goal, you take a whack at that piñata. There could be anything in there. It's just a big paper mache donkey of possibility. So put all your hope and positivity behind that stick and take a swing. Sometimes good things will come out, but more often than not (seems like more often than not. I don't have statistics or anything) life turns out to be a big ol' shit piñata. And as you stand there in that shit drizzle, you can try to justify it any way you'd like. "Maybe I haven't been smiling enough lately." "I let those negative thoughts get to me! No more of that!" But all that is wrong. The truth is that sometimes life sucks. Why do we pretend it doesn't? Why do we pretend we have the power to make it not suck? We don't. It doesn't matter what we do. It's going to suck or it's not going to suck. It's going to do what it's going to do whether we smile or not.

I know I probably sound like a dick. I know somebody (it's fun to think people read this) is out there saying to themselves how much I'm a jackass and why can't I just be happy. I hate that. I hate that people are so delusional to think that they can just flip a happy switch and there ya go! Instant happiness. Sure I could "just be happy," but I'd just be pretending. I could pretend I was on fire, too, but that would make me look pretty stupid. Maybe I don't want to hear about your great day just as much as you don't want to hear about my crappy one. Has that ever crossed your mind? We don't make our own happiness. That's ridiculous to even think. I worry about those people. I worry more about those people than I do people like myself (the super awesomely depressed and negative folks.) There are always going to be outside forces that we can't control. Say what you want, but that's the truth.

I just want people to be a little more realistic. I don't want them to be like me. I have set the bar pretty low as far as expectations go with anything. I've found that if I don't expect much, I'm disappointed much less. It's like the Gin Blossoms said, "If you don't expect too much from me, you might not be let down." Quoting a Gin Blossoms song is a little lame, but that's how I feel. Once I adopted this mindset, I've become a lot more content. I just wish I hadn't always been so naive and been a little better prepared for the shit piñata.

I guess Leia was kinda hot

I was walking up to the apartment this morning after getting, get this, fast food. I know that's a shock. A bee flew right in my face, and as I swatted at it, I caught my glasses with one of my fingers and flung them into the grass. Without my glasses the world might as well be Picasso shapes 'cause I couldn't tell the difference. So as I'm blindly sifting through the grass and dirt, I'm reminded why I'm still single. It's partly because I'm holding a bag of fast food at 8 a.m. that's not even breakfast food. It's also partly because I'm digging around the ground for my glasses that I swatted off my face while I was shooing away a bee like a little girl.

I think I need to make some changes. Maybe get some contacts or something. Hit the gym at least once. Nobody wants to date a guy who looks like, no matter when you see him, that within the last 30 minutes he jacked off to Star Wars. And that's what I unfortunately look like. I don't even like Star Wars, but I give off that vibe. I might as well wear a shirt that says, "Action figure collectors do it in the box," or something. I don't know whether it's the I-cut-my-own-hair hairstyle or the fact that my skin looks like I live in a cave, but it's definitely something.

So I've gotta fix this. I don't want to have a bunch of cats or ferrets or some shit that I refer to as my kids when I'm older. Sittin' there watching reruns of Firefly and asking them if they want more "din-din." This is the path which I'm on now. I want like...normalness minus the kids. And that's probably not going to happen if I continue to be Fatsworth McNerdstrom.

But under all this "I want to change" stuff lies the lazy side of me, and that side is usually the one who calls the shots. So I should probably start looking into what ferrets eat.

The dealbreaker

Do you have a stalker? Maybe someone who is just annoying and won't leave you alone? Well, just tell them you work at wal-mart. Don't worry about any sort of contact after that. Believe me.

This makes girl number three who has asked the dreaded, "so, what do you do" question. And sure I can tell my little back story about being a newspaper editor (sort of respectable, I guess), but it doesn't matter. All that matters is what I'm doing now. Once that hyphenated word comes out of my mouth, they're gone.

I don't really get it. It's just a job. It's not what I want to do for the rest of my life by any means. It pays the bills and that's all. I don't have a giant, framed painting of Sam Walton over my bed or anything. My room isn't painted Despair Blue (I doubt that's the name of the color, but it should be.) I put shit on a shelf and they pay me. That's all it is. That's all it ever will be. I don't plan on being a "lifer." And there's not even anything wrong with being a wal-mart lifer. It's not an entirely horrible place to work. The managers actually make pretty good money. If you are a good enough ass kisser, you can do ok for yourself, but you should probably plan on meeting someone prior to your wal-mart employment. Or I should have anyway.

There's no real way around it either until I get a better job. I don't want to lie and say I do something that I don't do, but I may have to start doing that. 'Cause this is girl #3. 3! I could probably say, "Oh, what do I do? Well, I arrange unborn fetuses into swastika and pentagram patterns. It's not really a job, but it's fulfilling." That would get a better reaction than, "I work at Wal-Mart."

Oh well.

Some stuff

I've decided that I don't really have the focus to dedicate entire posts to one topic, so I think I'm going to write about several topics in one post. We'll see how it works out. Also, I promised a friend that I would start writing again at least two posts a week. So here goes! Enjoy the slow, uneventful ride!!!

The other night at work this really cute girl was looking at workout dvds. I noticed her as I was walking by and in a very uncharacteristic DB move, I said something to her without months of planning and flow charts and focus groups and shit. I said, "Ooh...I wouldn't buy that one. That's the one I've been using." You see, that's funny because I weigh roughly eleven hundred pounds. She half-assed smiled, said thanks and turned back to look at Billy Blanks bullshit or whatever. I was a little surprised. I mean, that shit was gold! Maybe just in my head, but gold nonetheless. I probably should have said something after that, but to be honest I had no follow up. That was my pick up line hail mary, so to speak. And it was quickly batted down. So I turned around and did my walk of shame (which, turns out, has become my normal, everyday walk) back to the back room.

I get off work at 1 a.m. and usually stay up until around 7 or 8. During this time, I watch a lot of early morning tv/news, and I've discovered something. Channel 13 in Houston is doing it all wrong. The channel 11 traffic woman is Katherine Whaley, who is just great. Channel 2 has Jennifer Reyna doing traffic, and if you've ever been around me while I'm drunk (or sober really), I'm sure I've told you how hot I think Jennifer Reyna is. I mean, I watch channel 2 traffic in the morning like I have somewhere to go, and I totally don't...ever! That's how much I love Jennifer Reyna. I even consider driving to parts to Houston just because she tells me that the "drive in should be a great one." So who does Channel 13 throw out there to possibly draw viewers away from these two lovely ladies? Don F'ing Nelson. That's who. It just doesn't work. It's like watching a fatter Andy Griffith tell you about the potential hazards of your daily commute. Nobody wants to see that at 5 a.m.

Tonight at work I was walking by the toy section and noticed this baby doll on the endcap. Earlier in the night a coworker commented that it looked like me and could be my baby. So I stopped and looked at it, but didn't really see a resemblance aside from the fat head, pudgy cheeks and small amount of hair. Then I started thinking, "I wonder what they make these things out of," and I reached out and grabbed the little fella's hand. I probably stood there squishing and holding its little plastic hand for about 30-40 seconds, and then it hit me. I must have looked like the biggest pedophilic creepo in the world. What was actually me looking inquisitively and wondering, "Hmm, is this some sort of soft plastic?" probably looked more like a perv who was considering sticking his penis in this tiny plastic representation of a human baby. I was a little unnerved. So anyway, I bought it. Can you believe those things are 30 bucks? Haha...I'm kidding. (I used my discount card. It was only like $27 and some change.)

I bought Max Brooks' "World War Z" and "The Zombie Survival Guide," and they are great. I've gotta tell ya, zombies sound like they wouldn't be all that bad. I don't want the fast moving, "Zombieland" zombies, though. I want the slow, shuffling ones. One part of "World War Z" talks about a blind guy who basically kills hundreds of these slow zombies with a shovel. This sounds like something I could do. An added bonus to zombies would be that they would probably kill some of the assholes that I hate. Then they would reanimate as zombies and I (or possibly a blind Japanese guy) could hit them with shovels...consequence free! Don't read too much into me wanting to kill people. I just want to kill zombies. Plus, Woody Harrelson made it look cool. Not so much Jesse Eisenberg, though. I hate that guy. Any part he plays, Michael Cera could play better and with a thousand times more comedy.

I haven't been writing much lately because I'm my own worst critic. Also, with all my free time during hours when nobody else is awake, I've done a lot of thinking and I keep thinking about two particular errors I made when I worked at the paper and they still make me cringe. Thinking about them makes me not want to see words or make them with my keyboard. I'm getting over it, though. Slowly. Another reason is that I don't think I'm as funny as I used to be. I guess that goes back to being my own worst critic. I mean, some people liked "Office Space" and that movie was terrible (Jennifer Aniston = movie poison), so hopefully people will like my writing again.

And thanks to everybody who continued reading past the "sex with a plastic baby" paragraph.

Things I learned from the super bowl

1. The media is dumb. Good job, Saints, though. I'm glad you won the Super Bowl. Not so much for you, but for your fans and native New Orleansers(?). You know, 'cause nothing takes away the crushing devastation of losing your home and all your belongings like your hometown team winning a Super Bowl five years after the fact. Way to go, media. And I'm sure as the Haitians crawl out from the rubble, their first thought will be, "I wonder if Pierre Garcon caught a td?" Well he did, Haiti. Sleep easy tonight. It's just football. It's not going to change the world.

2. Tim Tebow disappoints me. I thought this anti-abortion commercial was supposed to be controversial. If I hadn't looked for it, I wouldn't have known what it was for. It was basically, "I'm glad I didn't abort you, Timmy." "Me too, Mom!" Lame. I wonder why she was considering aborting him. Maybe Alabama's defense raped her, too.

3. Betty White and Abe Vigoda in the same commercial? Whaaat? Has somebody been reading my diary?

4. Drew Brees' birthmark went 15-18 for 147 yards and a td.


5. My mom saw the 60 minutes special about Samoans in the NFL, but apparently didn't pay too much attention to the details. She asked me about 15 times, "is he Samoan? He has long hair." She's so going to a home soon.

6. Sean Payton must have kept the "not being able to score from the 1" page from the Dallas playbook when he left.

7. Megan Fox in a bubble bath could sell strobe lights at an epilepsy convention. Well, maybe not because I can't remember what her commercial was for. I just remember that it was great. And that's all that really matters.

8. And finally, I make possibly the worlds greatest guacamole. It's an honor in the avocado world to sacrifice themselves for my guacamole.

All in all, a pretty entertaining super bowl. I imagine Manning will be back before his career is over. He'll be up for the next three months watching film and wiping sweat off his gigantic forehead.

The e-trade babies disappointed me, but Tim Tebow is just thankful they're around to be on tv.

"To hell with this game, Peyton! Just hold me!"