While I think it is sad that LOL catz beat out other blogs with their bad grammar and dorky photos, there are some that are crazy funny. Like this one…
Tasty...
The situation is a game of cathphrase at our kitchen table. Molly and Ashley are a team, Danika and I are a team. Thirty-minutes into the game, it’s back to me trying to get Danika to guess the phrase “Say Uncle”. The complete dialogue is not completely there, but has not been changed for the sake of hilarity. There is copious amounts of swearing. Be warned.
Matt: Oh Oh… when you were young and your brothers or sisters would beat you up, this is what you were supposed to do.
Danika: Run.
Matt:No. It’s a phrase (I can’t use the word “say” because it’s part of the catchphrase)
Danika: You’d scream stop, hit them back, call for your parents…
Matt:No No No… come on… you are the one getting the beat down, and they tell you to do this and they let go.
*the timer is getting faster and we’re about to run out of time*
Danika: I would just beat their ass
Matt: Okay, and in order to let them go, this phrase will get them released. You have an Aunt and an —–.
Danika: Uncle?
Matt: Yes, but the phrase is two words.
Danika: Uncle? What kind of fucking pervert calls out their uncle when their getting beaten up.
Matt: Two words
Danika: Uncle is not something you should say *Buzzz*
Still confused why anyone would say uncle to be let go, we get into a debate over where it came from and how to use it. She says that it’s a Black thing and that Black people would never call out an uncle. They wouldn’t know which one. Still confused that you just say uncle, not a particular one she proceeds to call people in her phone book. “Jan, if I am beating your ass and you want me to let you go. What are you going to say?” Jan “Uncle” Danika “Get the fuck off my phone.” *click* Danika “I made my brothers say ‘Danika is the boss’ ‘Danika is the best person in the world’ but screaming uncle and every neighbor on the block is going to call the police on you perverted little ass to find out what is going on in your sick little house.
I’m trying to recapture my old abilities to go with Travis to a house that we’d never been to, full of people we never knew, and party like we owned the block. We used to be pretty good at it. So much so, I’m not sure we ever paid a cover or for a cup my last year at UW. While I am steering clear of beer during these weeks packed full of exams, I made an attempt at an on campus, closed reception. I hadn’t eaten much more than a shake that resembles what that Green Giant would leave behind if he were battling explosive diarrhea, so I was famished.
At first, I had no idea what the party was even for. Just that it was A) Loud and interfering with my studying B) closer than one of two places that sold food on campus C) a challenge, which I will always accept.
As I climbed the stairs to approach this food ladened table of glory, I noticed I was possibly in the wrong attire. No problem, luckily I wore a button dress shirt… off comes the jacket. Then I start worrying about how maybe the party was ethnic oriented as I was the only white person approaching the mob. I almost left to pull study partner Shaniq up stairs with me so that I would be sporting the token immigrant; but I pushed on alone when I spotted a blonde girl and knew that I would be okay. Then finally… the table… open access to cheese, crackers, sandwhiches, cookies, chocolate cake, cheesecake, and chocolate covered fruit.
Golden, right? I’m not going to be rude and let my appetite dictate that I load up like a bear preparing for hibernation but I made sure I would make it until dinner. The trick to pulling this off is to just go for it. Don’t ask questions, and don’t make eye contact until you hear a conversation you can join. If things go bad, leave (don’t drop the plate). While standing against the wall finishing off my plate thinking about what I would return for, I started realizing all the women had an individual rose in their hands. I thought maybe I was at a graduation or a recital. I scanned for something to tell me what the occasion was when I found it. International Woman Celebration something something… I started to panic when I noticed that indeed I was the only male there. I tried to think of what my story would be if approached when I thought that the only good thing to do was run. Not without grabbing three cookies before returning to the study group. I needed proof that I made it!
A few weeks ago I was having a conversation with my physical therapist about customer service and how company/organization is more into disservice.
My beef is with answering the phone. Dr Office X opens at 8:30, your appointment is at 8:30. Office procedures actually require you to show up fifteen minutes before your appointment to fill out paperwork. As part of the new patient procedure, they are leaving you to figure out how to get your completed paperwork into their folders by 8:15, fifteen minutes before the door actually opens. Before you spend too much time pondering how this works, Google has the answer: search for breaking and entering and you’ll be all set for that next appointment.
But what if you’re not able to arrive at 8:30, something happened that morning and you need to contact someone at the office? Leave a message, right? Good luck, most offices greet you with this pre-recorded message (most likely downloaded from www.pissoffpatients.com) “Our office is still closed… we seen that you’ve called 4 times already because we’re actually in the office listening to the phone ring. Your persistence leads us to believe this is an emergency, in which case you should dial 911.” You know someone is there waiting to greet the first person coming in for a scheduled appointment… why can’t they answer the phone just a few minutes before it?
Today I found happiness in customer service. I wanted to exchange something at REI and called them before my class. It seemed likely that they could be open at 8:00, so I gave it a shot. Come to find out, an hour before they opened not only did someone answer the phone but they helped me. Helpful Laura even apologized for having me wait while she booted up a computer. While my plans for an exchange were nixed – my gratitude today goes out to you REI for not sucking like every other company in this country with low-grade customer service.
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This past weekend Molly and I ran 6.47KM (which is 4 miles, but considering our finishing time, I needed to beef up the appearance of what we ran). It was probably my most pathetic attempt at physical achievement; which is why I stick to academia. Finishing just over 46 minutes, I watched in disbelief, horror and sadness as a stick swinging blind man finished in front of me. I could fill this spot with how I stuck with Molly through the race and that’s what put me behind him, but I’ll keep that to myself.
And if it isn’t the guy with a 6ft extension in front of him that pissed me off during the race, it was the “athletic” runners and then cooling down. I’m not sure if it was for motivational reasons, or maybe because they like to flaunt “You Suck” halfway through the run, or maybe for safety; they closed a single road down and had you run two miles down one side, and then double back down the other side. This is cool if you’re into seeing the same house that you could never afford twice, or maybe you thought you lost a contact lens and now is your chance to bed over and get it. But if you’re ass of the masses and damn near the last one running, you will be about 1 mile into the race before you see Mr-I-Run-For-Fun with his mob of other experienced athletes actually run back by you. And for some damned reason, the people in front of me (this would be the “losing” side) are cheering them on. Hey… I’m running a 10 minute mile; how bout tossing a few words of encouragement my way. And please, make it something other than “there’s only more six hills ahead”.
At mile 3 the depression set in when I saw the same guy I had already seen start the race and run by me the other direction once, was coming towards me again… why? Because four miles wasn’t enough and now he needed to run back down the course, so he could cool down. Of course… that’s what everyone does after a race, except for me. Here’s kind of what I looked like after finishing. There must have been 8 different roads leaving the parking lot, and two parks next to it, and he decides to run back down the course. Damn you MIRFF.
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After waiting about 45 minutes, and an extra Gatorade later, the Pepsi guy came into the teacher lounge and opened up the gates of glory…
Open Sesame...
Booya!
I changed locations for studying this morning and came in to find that the previous visitors probably left a little pissed. One of the vending machines had a Starbucks Espresso drink stuck half way down the front. Three bucks a can, I’d be pissed too. So I thought with it being so early, I could rattle the machine to get it out (my assumption is that because there is no warning of it tipping, then they must have fixed that re-occurring issue). After a quick-ass-bump from the side *bonk* here comes…damnit, a fruit juice. The espresso was still held captive. Ass-bump from the other side a few times *bonk* a Gatorade. It’s hard to imagine why I would be getting pissed off since I never put a dollar into the machine in the first place.
Needless to say, I’ve given up… I have three Gatorade’s and a fruit juice to carry to class and the coffee is in the same spot it was at the begining of the assult.
What I wanted...
What I took
I was coming on to campus this morning and I heard that there was a study that now links a rise in cursing to the declining status of the economy. I have to agree - my swearing has gone through the roof, but I attribute that to being back and school. After hearing this, I meant to twitter it (text 40404) but I was having a brain fart and sent it to 242242, which is Cha Cha. For those of you who are not cool enough (me) to have a blackberry/iPhone, Cha Cha is awesome for sending in questions and getting a person to look it up. Their website is almost as comical as Fmylife.com. For instance, posted this morning:
Question
Why is my friend taking so long to get out of the bathroom
Answer
Oh my! They may have fallen in the toilet. I’d go check on them if I were you. Write back and let ChaCha know they’re alright.
See, they even care! My misdirected text went something like this:
Me: I love that their is a study showing an inverse relationship to swearing and the economy.
ChaCha: I have not read the study, but I swear often at the economy.
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Sometimes you find services that strike a bell in your head and like any other compulsive buy, you end up with a plethora of monthly subscriptions hitting your credit card - Netflix, monthly mobster payoffs, payoffs to your professor, etc. Today I found that there is a service that will keep in touch with your spirit, and when you kick the bucket (or forget to check your email for a long period of time) they will send out personalized letters to all of your closest friends and family and alert them that you have died. The service is called Death Switch. Sure they sell it as informational insurance where you can have a neat little email with bank accounts and passwords sent to your loved ones. Or use it to tell your Dungeons and Dragons Guild that the Sorcerer has finally gotten the best of you. But what about the true potential of this service… spooking the shit out of family member’s via your friends signing you up. How sweet would that be?
Anyways, not looking forward to going to lab this morning. With the snow storm two weeks ago, it’s been almost 3 weeks since we first cut into Wilbur, and I have a sneaky suspicion that he is more that a little ripe…
Don't be like this kid...
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