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Published in: on June 20, 2013 at 4:12 pm  Leave a Comment  

I Don’t Like Your Trash!

Garage sales are very interesting events on Saturday mornings.  It takes a very different person to get up at the crack of dawn on the weekend, to drive around and sift through the crap that other people don’t want.  I know, I know.  One person’s trash is another person’s treasure.  I get it, and I am not really cracking on garage sale people in general.  Just the morons that were at my house this past weekend.

We have had a corner of the basement blocked off for about a year with things that we really didn’t want any longer.  A lot of it was still in good shape, but just didn’t work with my theme any longer.  (Shut Up!  I know I said theme!)  Anyway, when the HOA decided to have a community-wide garage sale, we figured that was the perfect time to try to make a little change off the stuff I just wanted hauled away.  So, we hauled all the items up to the garage, slapped some little prices on them, and awaited the freaks, err, shoppers. 

Because it was raining all day Saturday, all the items were actually inside the garage, but it was still seemed pretty obvious what was on sale, and what wasn’t.  It seemed that everyone that came by started their shopping experience by looking on the walls and shelves.  I had four requests to by my pressure washer, two requests for the brand new exterior lights that were still in their boxes, waiting for the painters to finish, so I could hang them up.  I had one person offer to buy my bike, even though he was 5’2″, and couldn’t ride my bike if I had a toddler seat on the back.  I don’t even know how he manage to reach the pedals on the car he drove up in.  I even had someone ask if their child could go in my house and use the bathroom.  Fine!  But I am frisking him on the way out.  I don’t care that he is 3!

There was another woman who came by, and stayed for about 30 minutes, and spent $1.  First, she changed her kid’s diaper in the middle of my garage, and then commented on the lack of visible tools in my garage.  My tools are put away neatly in cabinets and toolboxes lady!  Do you want to buy this stool or not?  Then she eyeballed some cute little sandals that my wife had in the sale.  Now my wife wears like a 6.5 ladies shoes.  My annoying patron, as she pulled her meaty hoof out of her own shoe, appeared to be wearing about a 12, but she tried to force that giant appendage into that tiny little shoe!  You break it, you own it!  Come to think of it, I never did see what she did with that dirty diaper!

Then there was Joe eBay.  Joe was looking for stuff that he could turn around and sell on eBay.  His first question was if I had any musical instruments.  Nah, man.  I think all our inventory is out on the floor, but I can go check in the back for you to see if we have any drum sets, trumpets, or guitars.  Then he eyeballed some old wetsuits that we were selling.  While checking these out, he asked if I had “one of those Internet Phones”.  Being a little rusty on speaking “Dumbass”, I replied that I did not.  Well, he saw my iPhone in my hand and asked, “You cain’t get the internet on that thing?”  “Oh!  You mean, do I have one of any of the billion cell phones that can access the internet, including the one my child has?  Yeah, I can access the internet.”  He wanted me to go to eBay, to see how much he could turn around and sell the wetsuits for.  “Get the &%$# out of my garage!

With all of that, the most annoying person was yet to come!  This old woman, who appeared to be the spry age of 102, showed up, and began to check everything out.  When I said good morning to her, I assumed she was just being rude when she didn’t answer, but as it turns out, she spoke very little English.  She wanted to purchase a back massager that was still in its original box.  She held the box in the air, and one finger, which I assumed to mean she was offering me $1.  Whatever, I am just ready to be done with this, so give me the buck, and go away.  Our transaction completed, she then took the massager out of the box, handed it back to me, and pointed to a power outlet.  “Okay, but it needs to charge.  It won’t run for long.”  I plugged it in, and of course it stayed on for about 10 seconds and died.  “No Work!”, she said to me.  “Yes, ma’am, it does work.  It needs to charge.”  “No Work!”, she said again.  Already losing my patience, I told my wife to give her her money back.  Saying, “No Work” again to no one in particular, she turned to leave. 

Twenty minutes later, she returned with who I assume was her daughter.  They were looking very hard at some shelves that were for sale.  Decent glass shelves, that I had two sets of.  They were also looking at an electric coffee grinder that we had an extra of.  The grinder was brand new, and I had paid about $40 for it the previous year.  It had maybe been used 5-6 times.  I was asking $10 for it.  The daughter gives me the same gesture the Mom had given me, so I assumed she wanted to see the grinder work.  It just so happened that I had a few beans left in it, so I plugged it in, ground a few beans, and let them see and smell the results.  “That Old!  Why you ask $10?”  Okay, now it is on!  I know that I don’t want this stuff anymore, but you don’t have to come and insult my junk!  “It is not old.  I will just keep it, and you can go have a nice day.”  “Two dollars!”, she offered.  “Ten”, I replied.  “Three!”  “Eight!”  “Three!”  “Seven dollars, and you and the old lady go away!”  She ended up buying the shelves, and the grinder, but then asked, as she glanced at my SUV, if I had a truck.  Oh hell no!  This is not Lowes.  I am not delivering.  I am not installing.  I am not hauling the old refrigerator away.  What the hell!

Anyway, I now remember why I only have a garage sale every 5 years or so.  I am sure it is just me though.

PS-I do remember buying an old fridge at a garage sale that a friend was having, and I also remember they delivered it to my house in their truck.  I am sure she will remind me of this when she reads this, but I don’t want to hear it!  That was different.

Published in: on June 14, 2010 at 8:26 pm  Comments (1)  

Can You Please Just Go Inside?

Hello folks.  Sorry I have been away so long, but better late than never, right?

Anyway, I am not sure when the ATM was invented, but it is a great tool for convenience.  Today, it is fairly common to have drive-up ATMs, so robbers can take your car, as well as your life-savings.  However, that is not the point of my rant.  I think that today’s ATMs have gone too far for banking transactions.  I think you should be able to do two things at an ATM.  First, and most common, is get cash.  I rarely carry cash, and quite frankly don’t need it that often.  I do most everything with my bank card, and I hope one day I find a soda machine or candy machine that takes my card.  I know my wife will go crazy trying to deal with all those transactions for $0.50 and $0.75 in our account!  When I do need cash, I just want to go up, hit a few buttons, grab my cash, and bounce. 

 The other transaction you should be able to do is check your balances.  This was very useful in my college years.  How many of you remember praying to the ATM Gods that there was at least $20.01 in your account so you could get that crisp twenty for a night of partying?  Of course, checking balances should be limited to once per day.  If it ain’t there now, it probably won’t be there in 20 seconds.

Everything else should require you to go inside.  One of those occasions arose when I needed cash to give to my son and neice so they could go to the baseball game.  I jumped in the car, and drove the 5 minutes to my bank, pulling into the drive-up (this will be important in a second) ATM.  There was one person in front of me, and I should have known it was going to be strange when they were out of their car, standing at the “drive-up” ATM.  I get it, maybe their window won’t roll down, so they have to step out of their car.  Twelve minutes later, they are still at it!  Depositing checks that they are endorsing on the spot, checking balances, transfering funds, hell I think this idiot paid their mortgage from the ATM!  Now you may ask why I waited all this time, and didn’t just go in.  Come on!  You know, as well as I do, that as soon as I got out of line to go inside, they would have finished and left.  Besides, I wasn’t appropriately dressed to go inside.  That is one of the perks of the drive-up anything.  I can go in my WIHO (Pronounced Wee Ho – Whatever I Have On)!

Are we getting to the point where we have to have an Express Lane ATM?  If you have anything more entailed than a quick withdrawal, or balance check, then go to the drive through and let the nice Teller inside handle that.  Maybe it is just me!

Published in: on June 14, 2010 at 7:18 pm  Leave a Comment  

Glory days have passed you by!

This is a great time of year for sports.  College football is getting serious, the World Series is happening, the NFL is hot and heavy; even the NBA and NHL are going again.  There are plenty of sports to talk about, no matter what flavor you prefer.  This post is going to have a couple of sports related rants.  This will hit most guys in the gut pretty hard, but some of you ladies are guilty of this as well.

Have you ever had a conversation with someone that went something like this? 

You – “Hey, did you watch the (insert team name here) game last night?”

Dork – “Of course!  WE played an awesome game last night.  WE were down by 6 with two minutes left in the game, and WE marched down the field, and scored in the last second!”

There is NO ONE who is into his team more than I am, but seriously…WE?  Unless you participated in OTAs, mini-camp, pre-season, made the team, ran out of the tunnel during pre-game, you should not be using WE to describe your team.  I remember having a conversation with a guy who was a big Miami Dolphin fan.  I remember him distinctly saying, “WE are the only team in NFL history to have a perfect season.”  It was my duty to remind him that unless his name was Shula, Czonka, Morris, or Griese, he was not supposed to say “WE”.  I know this one may be just me, but it is really annoying.  You can only say “WE” if you are referring to your old high school days.

That leads me into my next rant.  Guys, we are ALL guilty of it.  If you ever played ANY SPORT, EVER…you have probably done this before.  Find a way to ease your old sports activities into whatever conversation is taking place.  I am not talking about the guys sitting around, and BS’ing about past conquests.  I mean the conversations at work that might be casually discussing the current hitting slump of one Ryan Howard in the World Series.  You cannot compare your beer league slowpitch softball team, and the hitting slump you went through to the slump that Phillies star Ryan Howard is going through.  If you went through a slump in softball, it’s because you SUCK!  Softball is meant for the ball to be hit.  That’s why they pitch it SLOW!  You also cannot discuss how difficult it is to be a receiver going across the middle in the NFL, when all you have to compare it to is your single-A high-school football days, or even worse your flag-football league.  Trust me, the guy who once played middle-linebacker for your opposing high-school (the guy who is now your local Best-Buy saleman) is not Ray Lewis.  It’s not the same!

Don’t get me wrong, I like to recollect all the fun sports activities.  Hell, I played some football in the snow a few weeks ago with some friends, but that does not make me an expert on which cleat the Titans should have worn when the Patriots went all felonious with it in the snow storm.  Have you not noticed the eye rolls, and heavy sighs you get when you try to tell your wife, girlfriend (not both), or your kids about your Championship Flag Football game, for the 90th time?  They don’t care.  Advice to all of us guilty of doing this.  Save these conversations for the other guys (gals) who sacrificed everything for that championship intramural trophy.

Published in: on November 3, 2009 at 11:33 pm  Leave a Comment  

Baseball, Hot Dogs, Apple Pie, and Twenty-Three Inch Spinning Rims!

Greetings my friends! Sorry I have been very tardy on my postings, but as you very well know, life sometimes gets in the way! My typical disclaimer still applies; we are just having fun, so don’t take it personally. However, if I don’t get you with this one, I may never get you!

To us Americans, our cars are a big deal, especially for men. Not saying it is not important to women, but men are crazy with it. They are topics of the music we listen to, from country to hip/hop. I am sure we can all remember our first car. Regardless of how cool or “un-cool” it may have been, it was still OUR FIRST CAR. For a perfect example of the latter, I use my personal experience. My first car was an orange 1973 VW Super Beetle. There was nothing at all “Super” about this car, but it was mine. I spent most of my extra cash doing various things to my car, but the most significant was the stereo system. That car cranked! I mounted about eight 6×9 speakers in the back, as well as a few more in the doors. I could not drive the car at night, as the stereo drew too much power to work the lights. My point is that teenage boys go crazy with their cars, so everything that I have in the rest of my Blog is not intended for them. Have fun teens! However, if you are over the age of twenty-five, then everything below is meant for you!


Let me start with the low-hanging fruit. Let me say that I have no issues with convertibles. I have even owned a convertible. I love driving around on a beautiful Colorado day with the top down. However, I do have issues with the dork that I saw this week (it was pretty chilly/rainy in Colorado this week) driving his Sebring convertible with the top down, windows up, parka zipped up, with his hood on. I’m thinking that if you need to wear a coat, with the hood, then you might want to leave the top up. You think we are staring at you because you look good, but we are laughing at how ridiculous you look. If you can see your breath when you exhale, it is too cold for rocking the convertible. Jeep people, you get a pass from this one, as Jeeps look sweet regardless of the temperature.


Some of you out there have some pretty nice whips (that means ride), so I know you can appreciate this. (By the way, when I say ride, I mean your car) Many of you may take some extra effort to park way out in the parking lot so as to avoid door dings, etc. I personally will park in the back of the lot for this reason. However, what really gets me primal is when someone purposely takes up more than one spot. I don’t care what you are driving, how nice it is, or how much it costs, you are begging to get it keyed by taking up more than one spot! If you are in the last two spots of the mall parking lot on April 5th, and there are 10,000 other spots; go for it. If it is December 24th, and everyone is spending 30 minutes in the lot circling for a space; then you are more than likely going to find some holiday cheer carved into your paint.


Remember back when nothing was hotter than getting your car with the gold package! If you say you don’t remember that, then you are not old enough to drink yet. If you say you didn’t want it, then you are being disingenuous. EVERYONE wanted the gold package. So much so that you could go to AutoZone, and buy every piece of crap accessory in “gold” to put on your Chevy Chevette. It was the thing, especially in the 80s and 90s. Fast-forward to 2009, and along with many other things from the 80s and 90s, this is no longer “in”. But don’t tell the guy that OG’d (over-gold) the ’05 Escalade. Nice vehicle without all the crap(complete gold package), and who in the hell uses curb-feelers anymore, let alone gold ones! Come on man!


Pickup trucks are everywhere. Let’s face it. We need trucks. We all have a time in our life when we are looking for a “Truck Guy” to help us move something. Buy them some Bud Light, and you got ‘em for the weekend. So I don’t have an issue with trucks, but rather some of the accessories that are more common with trucks. Let me start with the infamous “Truck Balls”. I know that trucks are supposed to be very “manly” (even though nothing is hotter than a woman with a truck. Well maybe a woman on a motorcycle, but I digress.), but seeing a big pair of testicles hanging from the back bumper of your truck is a little disturbing. Are we compensating a bit? Of course, I did see a Subaru Outback with a giant package hanging off the back, and a woman driving. I am still marinating on that one.

The other thing that is rather common with trucks, and no less annoying is the sticker with Calvin. We all know which one. Calvin pissing on Dodge; Calvin pissing on Chevy; Calvin pissing on Ford. I know it is a “Who has more torque, can tow more, can haul more, blah, blah, blah” thing. They all have some nice features, but at the end of the day, all the rest of us care about is which one is available to help me get some mulch on Saturday?


So, a couple weeks ago, I was behind a car that must have had 30-40 bumper stickers all over it. Now tell the truth, the first picture in your mind was of an old beater, right? This car was a relatively new Honda minivan. Pretty nice for a minivan. (Don’t get all upset minivan owners. As a coach, I am on your side! Someone has to bring the kids to soccer practice!) Anyway, I am off-track again. This thing had bumper stickers all over the paint! Stickers from everywhere and everything! So, I should have prefaced this by saying that I am not a bumper sticker person at all. The only thing on my car is an LSU license plate bracket, and an LSU trailer hitch cover. With that known, I must say that political bumper stickers drive me a little nuts. I am in favor of everyone supporting their person, but when that person loses, you really should peel that sticker off. I am pretty sure that Walter Mondale is not going to make another run at it.


Last, but truly not least is the topic of rims, (aka – Dubs, spinners, 22’s, Michael Jordan’s, LeBrons, etc). Jordan and LeBron both wear the number 23, so these refer to the 23 inch rims, for the accessory challenged. Once again, I don’t have an issue with rims. Not really my thing, as I like to spend my money on other things, like mortgage payments, college fund, groceries, and watches (yes, I have a watch thing). However, if you can afford it, then go for it. There are a few situations where I think you should be a bit more conservative. If you are preparing a list of all your most expensive possessions, and your “Dubs” are on the top of the list, then you have your priorities messed up. If you are driving a Prius, and you are rocking some spinning 12’s, your message is a little twisted. “I care enough about the earth to drive a hybrid, but I don’t care enough to not buy these rims with the serious carbon footprint.” If someone would rather steal your rims, and leave the car, then maybe something is a little twisted. If your rim payment is more than your car payment and/or your rent or mortgage, then your priorities are jacked-up. And finally, if you drive to the Walmart, park, shop, load your groceries into the car, and your rims are STILL SPINNING…

…maybe it’s just me.

Published in: on September 24, 2009 at 9:13 pm  Leave a Comment  

Mind If I Play Through?

Golf and sex are the only things you can enjoy without being good at them.
~Jimmy DeMaret 

Anyone who plays golf can attest that this is so true.  I am going to focus on the golf part, and leave the sex alone.  At least for now!  This entry to the blog will really be appreciated by my friends who understand how I golf, and have been with me during my progression from “Angry Golf Guy” to “I Don’t Care Golf Guy”.  Most other people who golf will appreciate this, but some of you who take yourselves way too seriously, may get a bit bent out-of-shape.  I may even really piss you off.  Take a breath and relax!  We are just having some fun here.  You’ll get over it.

 I love to golf.  This is not to be mistaken with being good at golf.  I stink at the game, but I still enjoy playing.  This has not always been the case.  In order to give you some perspective, I have to give you a little history of my golf experience, so please hang in there.  Growing up, I played a lot of sports.  I was never a star at anything, but I can hold my own.  My best sports were football, basketball, and tennis.  I had no experience growing up with golf.  My dad did not play, nor did any of my friends dads.  Anytime I drove past a golf course, I thought it looked like the dumbest game ever.  My first experience with golf came when I was working as a firefighter back in Louisiana.  One of my fellow firefighters, Mike (a.k.a. Wolfie), was an avid golfer, and invited me to go play with him one day.  Having nothing better to do, I went.  He loaned me his grandfather’s clubs which I think were the same ones that Bagger Vance was carrying around for Mister Jonah in that movie (Don’t get mad Mike!).  Anyway, since I had never played before, it should not have mattered.  During that very frustrating morning, Mike offered to let me hit his brand new Big Bertha driver, which he had paid about $300 plus for.  Reluctantly, I decided to try it.  I teed my ball up, and took a tremendous swing!  I made great contact with the ball, and held a very Tiger-like pose as I watched the ball fly.  However, in my peripheral vision, I noticed a UFO coming into the same flight path of the ball, tracking it very closely.  As I brought the club down, I remarked at how amazing it was that the club manufacturers can make a club feel lighter coming back down, than it did on the swing.  Unfortunately, I then noticed that all I was holding in my hand was a headless shaft, and the UFO tracking my ball was in fact Mike’s new driver head!  In my horror, all I could think of was having to pay for a new driver, and that was going to be painful.  Mike was having a good laugh at the whole situation, and once he informed me that he could get it fixed for free, we all did.  Needless to say, I left golf alone for quite a few years after that.

 After leaving the fire service, and joining corporate America, I began to notice that at least once a month, the same group of co-workers would disappear together.  (You former StorageTek people know who you are!)  I finally discovered that they were going out to play golf.  When I inquired why I didn’t get invited, I was asked, “Do you play?”  NO.  “Do you have clubs?”  NO.  “That is why you don’t get invited.”  Well, one of the executives there took pity on me, and gave me my first set of golf clubs.  He had several sets, so he hooked me up.  Now I assumed that since I was better than most of my co-workers at basketball, softball, soccer, and flag football (at least in my mind), it was only natural that I was going to kick their asses at golf.  Boy was I wrong.  I could not hit a thing, and if I did hit it, everyone was in mortal danger, as I had no idea where it was going!  This was the birth of Angry Golfer Jay, and now I begin my blogging about the annoying stuff.

 Golfing for me now is much more enjoyable than it used to be.  I pretty much just play with the same two guys.  My two best friends, Ronnie and Nick.  We have certain rules that we abide by, and that is the reason we enjoy golfing with each other.  Not to say it wasn’t painful in the beginning.


 Have you ever played with someone who seems to know how to correct everything that is wrong with your game?  We all have, and we all hate that person.  You know the one.  After every bad swing, you hear things such as, “Check your grip.”  “Look at how you are addressing the ball.”  “Keep your head down.”  How about “Shut the F&*k Up!”  To quote my friend Ronnie, “I have 50 things running through my head for this shot, and you are trying to give me 20 more!”  It was years back when stuff such as this, coupled with my hyper-competitive nature, would send me into moments of intense rage.  I think fighters wanting to really get worked up before a match should play golf first.  They would destroy their opponent then!  There were moments that I would curse so badly on the golf course, even a young Eddie Murphy would tell me I needed to clean up my act.  I would even have periods that I would throw golf clubs.  Do you remember the scene from the movie “The Patriot”, where Mel Gibson throws that hatchet of his?  It flew through the air, end-over-end in slow-motion until it found the skull of some poor redcoat.  Well, I re-enacted that scene time and time again, but my hatchet was usually some type of wedge.  Lesson to be learned here?  Don’t talk to me about keeping my head down.  I am very accurate with a Gap wedge.  You might never return from your round of golf!  When my boys and I are on the range, we may point something out to each other that we see.  However, the reason we like to play together is that we ALL suck!  No one should be giving lessons to anyone.  We all have issues with our game, but we all have things that we do really well.  My friend Nick has a really decent middle game.  Ronnie has a short game that I am really envious of.  I am pretty good off the tee (despite what Mike’s aforementioned driver says).  Put us together, and we might be a decent 7-8 handicap.  But I digress.  Once we hit the first tee, all golf lessons are forbidden.  We just enjoy the round.  But it never fails, that you end up playing with someone who thinks they know everything wrong with your game.  That leads me to my next rant.


I have to admit, I have never gone to the golf course alone, and just tried to jump into a group.  Remember my previous blogs?  I am not unfriendly, but I just don’t like most people.  Amazing I have any friends at all.  Anyway, I almost always play golf with the same two aforementioned people.  When I am lucky, my brother makes my fourth.  When we just have the three of us, we end up praying that we don’t have “Loner Golf Guy” that gets stuck with us.  If we only have 3 people, and we think there is a good chance of getting Loner Guy, we walk.  That way none of us has to get stuck on a cart with this guy.  What makes it worse, is if Loner Guy is also Golf Lesson Guy.  We have recently found a new way to avoid Lone Golfer Guy.  We make a tee time for a foursome.  When we check in, we tell them that our fourth is running late, and ask if they can bring him out to us on the course.  A lot of courses will let you get away with this, so when our “fourth” never shows up, we are long since forgotten, and we can enjoy our round in peace.


 When I golf, I usually try to dress like a golfer.  Being a fair weather golfer, I normally play when it is warm, so a nice pair of shorts, golf shirt, or mock look very nice.  If it happens to be cool, then I throw on some slacks.  I even like the look of a golf vest, and have been known to rock one of those on occasion.  I once had my friends all show up, and we were all wearing something very similar, like all wearing black shirts and similar colored shorts.  This was an accident, but we did look like the Pips, searching for Gladys Knight out on the course.  We now try to make sure we know ahead of time so we don’t look like that again.  One thing I have never done is show up in jeans, cut-offs, sweatpants, sleeveless shirts, or Crocs.  Just looks bad.  Jeans?  Really?  Unless you are Brett Favre filming a Wranglers commercial, leave the jeans at home.  Also, I would like to take the time to address the Crocs guys.  I don’t like Crocs, and everyone who knows me is very aware of that.  However, if you have Crocs on while golfing, and those Crocs are color coordinated with your shirt; you might get your ass dragged into the woods by my crew for a swift ass-whoopin’.  Yeah, I know, they are very comfortable.  I have heard that slippers are comfortable too, but I am not golfing in them.  The other extreme to this is the guy who dresses like Payne Stewart.  God rest his soul, he was a great golfer, and famous for wearing his knickers and high socks.  He was good, and made a lot of money with his game.  He could wear whatever he wanted.  But for average Joe golfer, showing up to hack the local municipal, you need to chill.  If you show up wearing your Capri pants (knickers) and pantyhose (high socks), you just look like a dork.  We even saw a guy trying to pull off this look, but his socks were the ‘70s style basketball socks with the three stripes at the top.  He looked like he had stolen these right out of Dr. J’s top drawer.  Stand down Dork!


I am not trying to sound sexist when I say “Beer Cart Girl”.  Let’s face it.  Most courses hire attractive young ladies to drive the cart around and sell food and beer.  Hooters has made a fortune with the same business model.  I am not here to address the social implications of this, or whether it is right or wrong.  It is what it is.  But I do find it necessary to stand up for “Beer Cart Girl”.  Most golfers have witnessed the abuse that these ladies have to endure during their shift.  The ones that are really good, realize that if they play along just a bit, even flirting back some, their tips will be that much better.  That said guys, she is selling beer, candy bars, and sandwiches.  That’s it.  She is not a prostitute.  You are not going to be able to “tip” your way into her “Bit-O-Honey”.  Treat her the same way you would if she were serving you at the Red Lobster, and the family was there with you.  I am done with this one.


 I’m not trying to be a “hater” on this next one.  I know that people pay a ton of money to live on golf courses.  To that end, don’t you know what you are getting yourselves into?  I have a story on this one.  I was once golfing with my wife, and one of her friends.  They were both very new, and we have already established my ability.  We got to this one hole, and before we teed off, I noticed this couple standing in their yard along the fairway.  We all teed off, and it was the first time we all had shots land in the fairway.  As we approached our balls, I noticed the couple glaring at us like they were very unhappy, but they said nothing initially.  I thought they were insulted by the ugliness of my swing.  As I was standing at my ball, waiting for the green to clear (like I was actually going to hit the green), a ball flies in and lands in my vicinity.  I look back at the tee box, and there is no one there.  I look around, and I see the man from the aforementioned couple standing there with a club in his hand, having hit a ball from his yard.  WTF!  Those of you that know me well, know that confrontation is something that I try to avoid.  Okay, I am lying!  Anyway, I go back and confront the guy.  He is now too afraid to talk to me, but his wife isn’t.  She states that we hit a ball in her yard.  My reply to them was as follows:

First, we did not hit a ball in your yard.  We are all sitting in the fairway, and have no idea where the ball came from.  Secondly, even if we did, deal with it.  I am sure it was not the first time, nor will it be the last time someone hits a ball in your yard. 

 If you buy a house on a course, you have to deal with golfers at the crack of dawn, balls hitting your house, and maybe the occasional broken window.  If I break it, I will pay for it, but otherwise, you should have bought the house at the tee box, and not along the fairway!


 I could go on and on about golf, but I do want to wrap up by addressing a couple a rumors perpetuated by my friends.  They know who they are!  I have another story, as I always do.  I was once playing with may same two friends, but this time I believe my brother was with us.  I think this was the same day my buddy found out his wife was pregnant, but that is not the point of the story.  We came to this very short par 3, maybe 112 yards from the middle tees.  My short game is not good, so this was a troublesome shot for me.  As I am teeing off, some Canadian geese were walking right in front of us.  Well, I figured they were safe since they were only about 6 ft away, so I teed off.  I got on top of the ball, and instead of going up, it went straight and low.  Low enough to hit one of the geese right in the side!  As my friends were rolling around laughing, this poor goose was rolling around trying to breath.  He/She (It) eventually made it to the pond and swam away, maybe going off somewhere quiet to die.  I don’t know.  Needless to say, my friends have never let me live that down.  However, they have now started saying that on another occasion I hit a shot that hit a horse that was in a corral near another course we play.  My message to my friends is that this must stop!  Rumors like this have ended friendships in the past.  I did not come anywhere near that horse!  I think it was a mule.

Published in: on July 29, 2009 at 8:45 pm  Comments (2)  

Gotta Love Going to the Gym!

The gym and the car seem to be my favorite targets for things that annoy me.  Today I am going back to gym.  People do very interesting (annoying) things in the gym.  Guys, we seem to be the worst, so I am going to concentrate on us.  There are a few female things that I have heard about, so I will add those too. 

 Staring at Women in the Mirror Guy

 I know that women realize this is going on, as they are typically the targets of this.  The gym can sometimes be a big meat market.  Most women at some point either get hit on, or at the very least, stared at like an HD television.  Some guys don’t care if you know they are staring, and will just stare.  Some at least try to mask their stares by using the mirrors.  Let me give you a hint guys.  If you can see her, she can see you as well.  Unless you are sitting behind one of those police mirrors, then of course you have some different issues going on.  Women, I know it is annoying, but at least when a guy stares at you, he thinks that you are somewhat to very attractive.  The opposite of this is when a woman stares at another woman.  Have you ever noticed how a woman checks out another woman?  With a look that lasts all of about 3 seconds, she has assessed your hair, makeup, outfit, accessories, and body.  At the same time, she has filed you into one of two categories.  Both involve the word “hate”.  It seems like the same type of ritual two predators in the wild exhibit; determining if you are a threat and must be killed, or simply a complete waste of her time.  Either way, women over the age of 15 really seem to get annoyed with any type of staring.

 Dropping the Weights Guy

 You have to love the guys who are working out on the dumbbells, either doing curls, presses, or rows.  You can hear the loud grunts and moans that would make any female tennis player jealous.  It never fails that when Conan is done with his reps, he throws the weights on the floor in the ultimate “look at me” moment.  We are not impressed with you in the least.  The looks that you think are us being impressed, are actually more annoyance.  What is worse than that is the tool who drops twenties to the floor like he was lifting the centuries (that is 100 pounders if you are wondering).  If you are a man between the ages of 13 and 70, and you are curling twenties, you need to draw as little attention to yourself as possible.  Slide those bad boys back onto the rack with as little noise as possible.  Try not to get in the way of the female personal trainer doing hammer curls with the forties.


Polio Legs Guys

 Most guys in the gym are totally obsessed with their arms and chest, while most women are focused on their legs and butts.  I observed this one guy in a gym I used to belong to (we will call him “Tony”) who was so in love with his biceps, it was ridiculous.  Tony used to wear the same sweatpants and white t-shirt to the gym everyday.  Maybe it wasn’t the same.  He might have had a closet full of “The Fonz” t-shirts and sweatpants.  Anyway, all I ever saw Tony do for exercises is bicep curls.  Hundreds of curls, and nothing else.  He would then put the weights down, and stare at his progress in the mirrors.  If there was a female nearby, this would work out better.  He could then do his 12 sets of 50 curls as close to her as possible.  We all know how a man with giant biceps and matchsticks for legs is an absolute heart-stopper for all women.  I am convinced that Tony wore sweatpants to cover up the fact that he walked around on these frail little legs.  Please mix-in at least one squat.

 Mind Giving Me A Spot Guy

 I was once working out, enjoying music on the iPod as I normally do, when I got a tap on the shoulder.  This was from a guy who asked if I could give him a spot on the squat rack, which I agreed to do.  As I walked over the rack, I began to assess the situation.  This dude had seven, 45-lb plates on each side!  There was barely room on the bar for the clamps.  I looked at the guy, much the same way one woman check out another (see above), to see if there was any chance in hell he could actually squat 675 lbs.  I would have been satisfied with the workout from just loading that many plates onto the bar.  I proceeded to ask him what the hell he wanted me to do.  There is no way I can spot you alone with this type of weight.  If by “spot”, you mean scream like a girl and dial 911 on my cell phone, then yes I can spot you.  He assured me that he had two other guys coming over as well to assist.  Long story short, he lifted it, we were all impressed, but that was not the real annoyance.  Once I spotted him that one time, he expected me to spot him for all 4 of his sets.  Then, every other day we were there together, he expected me to spot him again.  Spotting someone once is usually not a problem, but I don’t want to be your workout partner for the rest of the day.

 Other things that I will mention, but not spend a lot of time on include the following:

 Not wiping off the machines.

Walking around with your milk jug of water.

Teen girls who don’t actually workout, but sit on machines that are close to the boy they like.

Some stranger asking if they can “work in” on the machine you are using.


I know, I know.  It’s probably just me.

Published in: on July 17, 2009 at 4:55 pm  Comments (1)  

Can’t Wait for Scotty to Beam Me Up!

So don’t get me wrong.  I love traveling.  Actually, let me clarify.  I love going to new, fun places.  The actual act of traveling can sometimes be rather bothersome.  I enjoy car trips, as I get to control the temperature, the speed, the music, and who I sit next to.  Car trips can be very fun, as you can look at it as an adventure.  Seeing unusual sights, and stopping wherever you want to take in some of those sights.  My problem is that I have not been able to find a driving route to Jamaica, or other exotic places.  Whenever I punch in Ocho Rios, Jamaica; the lady in the GPS just repeats “calculating route” over and over again.  It is very frustrating.  This means I am forced to use the airlines.  I can’t think of many things more annoying than air travel.  Maybe a cross-country bus ride, but since I have no experience with that, I am going to stick to what I know.  I have several topics about air travel that I think are rather annoying, so bear with me as I take up quite a few characters with this one.


 I have to preface this by saying that I have never had the opportunity to sit in first class, so this next section may sound like jealousy or “hate”, but it is not.  It is really amazing to me how the airlines make such a big deal out of announcing the first class passenger boarding.  They get their own little red carpet to walk on before they enter the jet way, while getting the opportunity to board the plane first.  I always thought they should just treat them like they do the players playing in the Super Bowl.  They should have a big fog sprayer, pyrotechnics, cheerleaders, and an announcer calling them onto the plane individually.  “Now boarding the plane, in her third year from IBM, traveling to Southern California to lay-off an entire division, sitting in seat 1A, MARY JOHANSEN!!!!”  She could then low-five and chest bump all the other first class passengers as she goes to board.  Maybe the next guy could pour some baby powder in his hand, and throw it in the air like Lebron James.  After all of the first-class passengers (starting line-up) have boarded, they could just say “…and the rest of your Flight 316 passengers!”  We could then climb up through the belly of the plane and fight our way to our seats, so as not to disturb the first class passengers as they have their pre-flight drinks.  Maybe I am hating just a bit.


 Carry-on bags used to just be a minor nuisance.  Now that most airlines want to charge you for everything you bring on the plane, carry-on bags have become a huge pain.  The things that people try to pass as a carry-on is really quite amazing.  I watched as one particular woman had her small piece of luggage stuffed so full, that the zipper on the bag was well beyond the stress tolerance of anything made by man.  I was actually afraid to look directly at it, on the off-chance that the zipper might explode, and I might lose an eye.  She also had a backpack that honestly looked as though it had enough gear to trek across Nepal and back.  Finally, she had her “purse”, which was large enough to be a weekend bag for most people.  As she waited for her turn to board the plane, she stood in close proximity to that “frame-thingy” that the airlines have that is supposed to let you know if your bag is too big to fit in the overhead compartment.  I have actually never seen anyone use this device, and I have never seen anyone told that their carry-on was too big.  As I mentally compared her bag to the frame-thingy, I wagered myself that there was no way that she was getting that bag into the overhead compartment.  Little did I know that this woman either possessed super-human strength, or was able to break the laws of physics as we know them.  (Well, I don’t know them, but I am sure someone does.)  Anyway, she was one of the first of the peasants to board the plane, so she was able to take up an entire overhead compartment with her bag, and her backpack.  Fortunately, I was not sitting near her, as the two lucky people who were had no room for their items.  They proceeded to take up the next compartment, and so the chain reaction began.  People boarding last ended up having to check their bags, as there were no compartments left.  We need an Air Marshal on the flight just to regulate carry-ons!


If you are traveling alone, is there anyplace more dreaded than the middle seat?  From the moment you see your seat assignment, if you see “B” or “E”, it is almost as bad as getting a notice from the IRS.  You will do anything to trade out of that middle seat.  For me, I love the window, and here is my normal routine for traveling when I have the window seat.  First, I fast for 24 hours.  No food or drink.  There is no way I am getting up to go to the bathroom for any reason.  Next, I make sure my iPod is fully charged, my books and magazines are ready and handy, and sunglasses are a real plus if you have them.  Finally, when you get to your seat, you must position yourself with just enough of a lean so the person next to you can’t make eye contact.  If you make eye contact, then there might be a conversation.  Don’t get me wrong, its not that I am unfriendly.  I just don’t like most people.  Unfortunately, when you have the middle seat, there is that very uncomfortable moment when you approach the row.  The two people sitting there are looking and praying that the seat stays empty, whispering under their breath, “Please not here, please not here!”  When you stop and state that you are in that seat, you basically get the same reaction that people give when they get pulled over by a cop.  They aren’t going to say anything, but you know they are not happy.  The person on the aisle now has to stand up to let you in, and they were inevitably buckled in like they expected to be in the first episode of “Lost”.  Next, which armrest is yours?  I personally think that everyone should lean away from the aisle, as the aisle seat person could lose a limb if they are not careful, but inevitably, one of the people assumes they get both armrests.  Haven’t wars started that way?  I had one such elbow battle with a gentleman, who was determined to try and show me how dominant he was.  I’m sorry that you are 5’ 2”, and your feet are unable to actually touch the floor.  However, acting like a petulant child over the armrest is not going to add 8 inches to the bottom line.  Keep the armrest, at least I can see over the seat.


This is a big one for me.  When you sit in coach, those 3 inches of reclining space just do not make that much of a difference in your comfort.  My personal rule is that if the person in front of me does not recline, then I won’t either.  Needless to say that has never happened.  My last flight, the guy in front of me seemed determined to not only recline, but to also force that seat into a Lazy-Boy position.  I really felt inclined to introduce myself since he seemed to want to rest his head in my lap.  Now, another chain reaction starts, as I have to recline, so as not to smell this guy’s hair the entire flight.  Now everyone has to recline.  Everyone, except that poor bastard in the last row, next to the bathroom, whose seat does not recline.  Most of us have been there before, and it really is not fun to be that guy.

Trust me, I could go on and on about air travel.  Maybe I will continue next week, but for now…I can’t wait for those days when Scotty can just beam me up!  Maybe it’s just me!

Published in: on July 7, 2009 at 3:17 am  Leave a Comment  

Taking finger-foods to a whole new level!

“I mean, people wonder why they get E. coli poisoning or salmonella or hepatitis, when all they gotta do is look at the snack bowl at their local watering hole.” – Reuben Feffer (Ben Stiller) in “Along Came Polly”. 

In America, if we have to sit someplace for more than 30 minutes, there better be something to eat.  Parties, movies, meetings, etc.  I want something to snack on if you want to actually keep me there.  Doesn’t need to be much to satisfy this.  Some chips, cheese, popcorn, meatballs (you get the picture).  There is a certain ettiquette for these so-called “finger foods”.  Some foods can be easily managed with your hands.  You can grab that chip without touching a bunch of other chips.  You can grab that carrot stick without fingering the other carrot sticks.  You can even get that buffalo wing, and not disturb the rest of the herd.  Certain foods may require some type of utensil.  Many times there are some toothpicks near the cheese tray that allow you to impale only the piece of cheese that you want.  It is usually frowned upon for you to go diving into the meatball pot with your hands, so  there should be a spoon nearby for that.  But then there is the bowl of mixed nuts (or Chex mix).  It is nearly impossible to get in there with your fingers without collateral damage to surrounding nuts.  Many times there is no other way to get in there, so you have to decide how badly you want that Macademia.  Before I go too much further, I must say that I am NOT a germiphobe.  I do think that there are certain common courtesies that we should all adhere to, in order to minimize the Swine, Avian, and Reptillian flu.  Okay, I did make that last one up, but you know it is coming!  I wash my hands when leaving the restroom, I cover my mouth when I cough or sneeze, and most importantly I do my best to treat and cover any open arterial bleeds that I might have at that particular time.  These things seem easy enough.

In case you have not guessed, I have a real-life example.  I am going to leave the occasion generic, so I don’t get in too much trouble.  I am at this “engagement”, and there are various snacks being served.  One of  these snacks was a bowl of mixed nuts, which happened to have a serving spoon, and some little Dixie cups that you could serve them into.  Pretty good setup I thought.  Most people there worked this exactly the way it was intended.  Instructions as follows:

1. Grab the spoon.

2. Scoop some nuts.

3. Pour nuts into cup, or hand.

4. Replace spoon.

Seems easy enough.  However, one inconsiderate bastard decided to rewrite the instructions as follows:

1. Grab spoon and set it aside.

2. Plunge dirty hand into the bowl of nuts, making sure to touch the bottom of bowl, and as many nuts as possible.

3. Repeat as much as you want, as no one else seems to want anymore nuts.

As put off by this as I was, it was only the beginning.  At least at this point, the only contaminated food item was the nuts.  I still had some cookies and fruit to choose from.  However, up walks another gentleman (asshole) to the table.  When he picked up a napkin, I assumed he was about to partake in a nice tasty treat.  To my snacking horror, I watched as he used the napkin to very forcefully blow his nose, without so much as thinking about turning away from the food!  I know he had a napkin, but there was about as much chance of him containing his contaminants as there was of David Letterman containing another Sarah Palin joke.  I guess that if I had been as blissfully ignorant as I am when I order from any local restaurant, I could have continued to enjoy, but the mental damage was already done.  Did I say anything?  Well, no.  Maybe one day I’ll be able to explain that one, but for now…

Maybe its just me.

Published in: on June 22, 2009 at 9:28 pm  Leave a Comment  

People That Are Too Comfortable With Their Own Nudity

So let me preface this by stating that this post does not apply to porn stars.  So if you have ever been in a porno, auditioned for a porno, or aspire to be a porn star then you NEED to be comfortable with your own nudity.  The person I am talking about is that person we have all seen in the gym locker room.  Male or female, there is always someone who likes to walk around the locker room a bit too uncovered.  Just this week, I am in my health club after a nice workout, and a little time in the hot tub.  Now, this is a pretty nice club.  The benches in the locker rooms are some sort of granite or marble.  I don’t know, I’m a guy.  It is hard and rock-like.  You would think that this would be rather uncomfortable to sit on naked, but out walks a rather large gentleman from the showers.  Now, this club provides towels.  As many as you want to use.  This gentleman, with his rather large moobs (man-boobs), grabs a towel and proceeds to lay it out on the floor, while parking his rear and his man package on the nice bench.  The same bench that I was once going to sit on.  I could be wearing a suit of armor, and I am not sitting on those benches ever again, but I digress.  Would it have been too much for him to place a towel on the bench before defiling it forever?

Now I know that you guys will think I am making this up (I reserve the right to do that whenever I want), but this is the truth.  Moobs grabs his shaving kit, and wanders over to the sinks, and proceeds to shave.  Still naked!  Isn’t this somehow dangerous?  Are there not some OSHA regulations that prohibit nude, public shaving?  If I am going to be forced to buy a bluetooth so I can use my cell phone in the car, then Moobs should have to put on some whitey-tighties to run his Gillette.  Seriously, there are children in the locker room.  The last thing I want my kid to see is a naked Sasquatch shaving his pelt.  Please cover up! 

Maybe its just me.

Published in: on June 19, 2009 at 4:34 am  Leave a Comment