Never test the depth of the water with both feet.

Always go headfirst.  Especially if it's in the shallow end.

Recently I've noticed that ADD has been affecting every part of my life.  For example, when I go shopping for something I will be in the store for 45 minutes, and leave with two carts full of everything they had except the item I went to buy in the first place.  A few weeks ago this became very clear when I went to the grocery store twice in one day to get toothpaste, and after both trips realized I was home with a plethora of medicine and vitamins, several different types of frozen pizzas, one lime, and enough Sour Cream & Onion Pringles to build a life size replica of The White House.  In my defense, have you ever been shopping for something and you find something completely different on sale and you just get pissed because you know you have to buy it now?  It's not even a good thing.  You're just walking down the aisle and all of a sudden that stupid little yellow sticker catches your eye and screams that these Pringles are 5 for $4, and you just sigh dejectedly and load 25 cans into your cart as you reevaluate the pathetic sham you call your life.  That's what happened.  Pringles are a crutch for me.  Homeless people in downtown Atlanta have meth, I have Sour Cream & Onion Pringles.  Judge me.

Speaking of police officers, which we weren't, have any of you every really analyzed the tiny yet ever-present bit of evil in every one of us?  It's not really that big of a deal, because it's only observable in certain situations, and even then only to yourself, but it's definitely there.  Like when a car just hauls by you on the interstate at a speed usually reserved for fighter jets or time travel.  The hoodlum cuts you off and you panic but they're already gone.  Five minutes later though, oh such sweet revenge.  You come over a hill and on the side of the road is that same car, pulled over by a police officer.  You're full of shit if you don't admit that for just one little second you think, "HA.  Serves you right bitch."  Well you should be ashamed.  You don't even know that person.  They could be the nicest person in the world.  What if they were trying to get to the hospital so they didn't miss the birth of their firstborn?  What if their family member was dying?*  You have absolutely no reason at all to laugh maniacally at that person's misfortune, yet for a split second, you do.  And you really enjoy it.  You're terrible.  

*None of this is ever the case.  It's always some douchey teenager just generally sucking at life.

So about three years ago I was staying at my friend's parent's house in Pasadena, and stayed in his sister's room.  She had a Tempur-Pedic mattress, and that was the first time I'd ever slept on one.  I've been thinking about that bed on and off for the past few years now, and I still can't figure out how I feel about it.  They're advertised everywhere as one of the best beds you can get, and everyone generally agrees on that even though half those people have never slept on one.  The reason I'm confused is that when I'm awake, those beds are just the worst.  There's no bounce, and you feel like your laying in some kind of marketable quicksand.  God forbid your phone rings on the nightstand, because rolling over to get to it may as well be an Olympic event.  I hate it.  I just remember laying there for at least two hours trying to get comfortable, thinking about how I was never going to fall asleep, or at least sleep through the night.  Then I woke up three days later.  I don't even know what happened.  Somehow the most uncomfortable bed since people slept on nails* gave me a night's rest that rivals a decade-long coma.  And the glass of wine on the far corner of the bed didn't spill a drop!

*I have no proof that was ever actually a thing.

The last little tidbit for today is just a recap of my ongoing battle with any and all parking enforcement officers.  I'm never the one that you see yelling at the officer or begging to them while getting in the car to move it.  I'm much more mischievous than that.  I don't yell or beg, I scheme.  I'm the guy that will put this in my windshield.  And this time in particular, after getting my ninth parking ticket, things got drastic.  See I had to park in this specific area to get to class, and I didn't have enough money for the parking pass because I have the fiscal responsibility of an eleven year old, so when it came time to park there again or miss my test, I had to get creative.  After receiving a small photo album's worth of tickets pinned nicely under my wipers, I decided my only option was to remove the wipers themselves.  I figured I lived in Phoenix so rain wasn't an issue, and I'd have enough for the parking pass by the next week, so I could replace them soon.  Then I got cocky.  I left a note inside my windshield for the inevitable viewing of the parking official that simply said: "Your move."  Talk about feeling empowered and generally clever as hell.  (Side Note:  It is amazing how many other places they can find to put parking tickets on your car.)

Fact of the Day:  Last week was National Hobo Week.

Shout out to Katy Moakley.

Never do card tricks for the group you play poker with.

Hi friends.  It's been a while.  I'm not good at commitment; you should know that by now.  Let's just suppress our true feelings and act like nothing's happened.  That seems healthy.

To jump right in, there are a few things I feel the need to cover from the past few months.  Namely, how much I hate the Geico pig.  I get it, all company mascots have a shelf life, but I feel like we're really going downhill with this one, and that's not a pun about the zip-lining commercial.  The cavemen were entertaining, and it was a witty catchphrase scenario.  The lizard was cute, and who doesn't love a British accent?  The pig though?  This talking swine might be the most obnoxious thing on television since Snooki.  (Is she still alive?)  The pig is basically just a play on the American kid: fat, ugly, smug, and annoying as hell.  And he doesn't even talk about insurance in the commercials either.  What the shit Geico?  And like I'm going to take financial advice from a freaking farm animal anyway?  Old MacDonald never said shit about having any insurance reps on his farm as far as I remember.  Honestly, if that pig wanted to be useful he would voluntarily turn himself in to be bacon, and even if he did, I'd probably just throw him away.*

*No I wouldn't.  I don't waste bacon, I'm not a monster.

For those of you that don't know, I spent early May and the better part of June traveling across Europe because I'm better and more cultured than you.  Also, because I have no concept of money or the repercussions of crippling debt.  Anyway, this trip went about as smoothly as you would assume.  To cover the big details:  I went completely and totally broke just before halfway through the trip, I was nearly drugged at 3am at a train station in Italy in an attempt to steal my luggage and female friends, and I totally missed my flight back to America.  Successful venture, I'd say.  I won't go into the gory details because I'm sure there's at least one person with a soul that reads this thing, but it was an entertaining trip.  And to clarify, I absolutely DID do all the sightseeing stuff and tours and culturally necessary stuff, so I'd appreciate if you wouldn't assume I'm just another trashy American.  How many concentration camps have YOU been to in the last three months?  How many Roman Colosseums?  Buckingham Palaces?  Yea.  That's what I thought.

So in January I moved to Phoenix as I may have mentioned, and currently in July, I am regretting more than anything I have ever done in my entire life.  Don't get me wrong, I have a great job, amazing friends, and a roof over my head.  The problem is that the job is basically a sweatshop, all my wonderful friends are dying of heat exhaustion, and I'm pretty sure the roof started melting last week.  IT'S HOT AS F*&K, if you get my drift.  I did not think this move through in the least bit.  Everything was fine when I got here in January, and was even bearable all the way through May.  Then I went across the pond.  When I came back it was like I had gotten on the wrong flight and accidentally landed on the surface of the sun.  The heat that we deal with daily is the kind usually reserved for the third or fourth ring of hell.  Screw frying an egg in the shade, I'm pretty damn sure you could grill shrimp kabobs, asparagus, and a 16oz steak.  At 9am.  And it doesn't help that all the delusional locals that for some insane reason have decided to stay here despite the sweltering heat terrorizing them at all times are constantly reminding me that "they remember their first summer here."  No you don't.  If you truly remembered your first summer here, you wouldn't still live here you ignorant jerk.

That's it for the day.  I've got a lot more, but I've been told to shorten these things up.  Apparently either I'm only manageable in small doses, or you people have just as short of an attention span as I do.

Fact of the Day:  Romans used to wear wreaths of celery to protect themselves from hangovers.

Shout out to Mitzi Lea.

I think it's wrong that only one company makes the game Monopoly.

This is how it begins.

You sit down to play Monopoly with your loved ones. You've got some cold beverages, some snacks, and a comfy seat. Great! You playfully choose your piece. Your brother goes straight for the dog, as always. You buy your first property. Elated, you fan yourself with the cards you've collected. Then a sense of creeping discomfort arises. You notice that people around you are changing. As the family works their way around the board, it's clear that there's a strategy in place. There's tension on the air. Your dad lost the battle for the Top Hat piece, and will take his revenge.



How long have you been playing for? Time passes so slowly when you're trying to get all the Utilities. Or the railroads! You could then catch the train out of this game, far far away. The banker looks shifty. What kind of banker doesn't keep their notes organized? Beads of sweat form on brows as illicit IOUs are passed under the table.



This isn't Monopoly. This is war.



Rent rises, and hotels are built with no regard for health and safety regulations. You reach a stalemate. All properties have been taken. You wander around the board, waiting for something. Anything. You begin to mull on committing a crime. Just so you can sit quietly in jail for a while. You float the idea of creating social housing - a better, more equal world. Nobody listens.



While you go to the bathroom, your sibling raises your rent. You declare bankruptcy, in shame. The group becomes split between 'lifers' and 'sore losers'. Neither will concede. Uncle Moneybags taunts you from outside the box, rubbing his hands as he sees a once-happy group of people, reduced to haggling over hotels. There's an uprising. The game ends in tears. As ever.



Monopoly ruins lives.

Honk if you love peace and quiet.

Hello Tablets, did you miss me?  I did.  In case you didn't notice, I forgot I had this blog again.  Turns out when you move across the country and have zero plans of how you're getting there, where you're living, or how you're paying for any of that, you get a little distracted.

Anyway, now I'm in Phoenix, where apparently winter is lazy as shit and only lasts two months.  I mean I know I shouldn't be one to judge for laziness, but you think it'd stay cold past, you know, New Years?  If a year ago you told me I'd be sweating just from going outside in the middle of January I'd probably have slapped you and told you about my irrational fear of going to Africa while trying not to sound racist.  I'm sure everyone here is exceptionally tired of me bitching about the dry heat, and I guess I deserve it.  Especially because my inability to logically weigh benefits vs consequences led me to move here to avoid humidity, which is about as rational as joining the army to meet Muslim chicks.  Gotta think of everything else that comes with it.  I probably could've chosen somewhere just as dry, just slightly less mind-blowingly hot.

Speaking of phones, I finally got the iPhone 5.  Just kidding, I still have a shitty little Nokia brick.  Just kidding, I'm not going to let you know what kind of phone I have.  It's part of the mystery.  Anyway, a couple months ago my roommate at the time did actually get the iPhone 5, and needless to say we all reacted like an eight year old opening a Nintendo 64.  Unfortunately, I didn't realize how demeaning this little handheld computer would end up being.  It probably doesn't surprise you that I judge my own self-worth on a series of incredibly trivial situations, such as how long I can balance a golf club vertically on my palm, the amount of medium-heat wings I can eat in one sitting, or in this instance whether or not I can calculate a word's score faster than the computer on Words With Friends.  Up until this point I was unerringly victorious, and thus was confident in all areas of my life.  Then the 5 came.  I can only assume that Steve Jobs heard of my competition with his beloved iPhone, and worked around the clock until his stupid little device was faster than me.  Well, you win, Jobs.  I will go on forever surrounded by a cloud of insecurity, doubting my very existing.  Way to be a jerk.

Over the past few years I've realized that Facebook has officially ruined birthdays.  When people used to say "Happy Birthday!" you felt good about yourself, like "Wow, that person really cares about me." Now when somebody says that, my first thought is either "They probably just saw it on Facebook this morning…" or "Who the shit is Kevin Phalange?!*  And it doesn't end there.  How about when it's someone else's birthday?  It's just weird now.  You see the notification and have to go through a stressful series of questions:  Do I know this person?  I know them, but do I know them well enough to say happy birthday?  Did they write on my wall when it was my birthday last year?  I definitely am friends with them, but do I just write on their wall, or am I close enough that I should text them?  Is it weird to do both?  Do I call them??  No wait, fuck calling anyone.  I'll just text.  What if they don't have my number?  Then I just seem creepy... oh god I don’t know what to do!  I'm just going to delete my Facebook for a few months and drop off the grid, then I can just skip the whole process.  I think I know a guy in Memphis that makes new identities… SHIT I FORGOT HIS BIRTHDAY LAST WEEK.

*Seriously, if anybody knows this guy, please let me know.  I have no clue who he is, and it's starting to freak me out.

Does anybody else think it's weird when food at the grocery store says it's "70% Organic"?  I mean if you have peanut allergies and something says it's 70% nut-free, you still can't eat it because 30% of it has nuts in it.  Being seventy percent nut free has absolutely no benefit.  So when something is 70% free of pesticides, it still has effing pesticides in it.  It's not organic; it's all a facade.  Sneaky little bastards.

Speaking of sneaky little bastards, I've composed a list of a few reasons of why I have trust issues:

- Banana bruises that don't show through the peel.

- "Skittles" that are actually Runts.

- Boxes of chocolate that all look the exact same.  Fucking coconut...

- Ketchup containers that look full because they're painted red, but are empty, like the hearts of their creators.

-Turkey bacon.

Fact of the Day:  Today (Feb17th) is the birthday of Michael Jordan, Michael Bay, and Larry the Cable Guy.  Happy Birthday to the first two.

Shout out to Joy Prewitt.