Engaged!

So I got engaged!

Here's a picture of the happy couple. This was taken on a low-key Tuesday night at home:

Lord, she’s pretty. This is going to be fun.

Here was Jables’ reaction. I’m not sure quite what to make of it.

Overnights! And not the good kind, with pillowfights.

So I work overnights now, at a crappy insurance company (in the event someone important is reading this, they should know that when kids today say “crappy” they mean “awesome”—true story). What I do for a living is as unimportant as ever and the reasons for switching are relatively unimportant (other than the fact my girlfriend works overnights too, and now I can touch her boobs while I’m sleeping). One plus about overnights is that between calls I can write blogs that reveal far too much personal information.

I thoroughly enjoy my new hours. However, there are many mysteries and... I won't say interesting, because that's not true... we'll say socially inept characters to deal with when working overnight shifts. Here is one example of each:

Character: The 38 year old guy (Matt) who is way, way too impressed with his sports card collection. I’m not knocking the guy for liking or collecting sports cards. I’m not interested in it, but then I haven’t time traveled back to elementary school in 1964 and I can afford to buy gum without sharp edges (barely).

What I don’t understand is why this guy flaunts his card collection so much. One day he walked inside my cubicle (shattering my personal bubble) with a small, nondescript cardboard box. He then started to bang said box on the shelves in my cube.

He wants me to ask him what’s inside the box, I thought. Then I didn’t ask him, because he’s annoying and I wanted him to go away.

Matt then attempted to endear himself to me by praising the movie Transformers while denigrating Superbad, one of the best comedies of all time.

Sidebar: When I started to list off some of the 4,000 reasons Transformers is a giant steaming pile of cinematic bullshit, he told me “you just have to accept it for what it is.” Uh, no, I don’t. I like big dumb action movies as much as the next guy, I just don’t like lazy ones where four story alien robots can hide behind trees in the middle of the fucking suburbs, and I don’t like when the normally reliable John Tuturro is so ridiculously terrible he embarrasses the entire movie making industry. Off the top of my head, I can only think of one other performance that bad, which came courtesy of William Hurt in A History of Violence. But at least Billy “Volume = Acting!” Hurt has the excuse of always being worthless.

Sidebar 2: I also understand that I've probably thought about the movie Transformers more than the people who actually made it. But isn't that the problem?

Sidebar 3: I don’t know how to make an actual sidebar appear, so I’m assuming it is acceptable to just say “sidebar” and digress in the middle of a story. You know, kinda how Congress passed that law that says you can just say “stop” and drive straight through stop signs, instead of having to slow down? Washington really got that one right.

Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah. So he finally realizes I’m not going to ask him about his cardboard box, so he does a casual back stretch (honestly) and gives me a “Yeeeaahh… These are my trading cards. Probably got about $8000.00 in this box.” Wow. The conversation continued:

Him: “You want to see them?”

Me: “Nope.”

Of course, he opened the box and showed them to me. Including one that had pieces of jersey in the card! Oooh!

I don’t have anything else to add to this story. Sorry. I hope you learned something.


Mystery: Hey America! It’s time to play everyone’s favorite game…

Douche bag or malfunctioning robot?

I play this game every Friday when I work with a guy I’ll call “Carl,” because that’s his name. Now, the first time I met Carl, I thought he was just a dumbass. However, Carl’s behavior the past several Fridays indicates he could be a malfunctioning robot from the future.

Peculiar Behavior #1: Carl’s hair is bleached blond and gelled into a plastic harder than 1970s breast implants.

Debate: I’ll admit this one seems easy at first. I mean, we all know bleached blond hair on a dude is a key indicator of douchery. But what if this hair doesn’t just look like plastic? What if… it is plastic? Maybe the robot overlords of the future couldn’t find a good wig and just made a weave out of the tops of old Ken dolls.

Verdict: Douche bag 1, Robot 0.

Peculiar Behavior #2: Carl wears a very tight leather coat. It might also be a woman’s coat, I can’t tell. There does seem to be tiny air-breast bubbles in the chestal region.

Debate: This one is easy. The harrowing documentary Terminator 2: Judgment Day taught us all that robots from the future love leather coats. Scientists (namely, Jeff) are still working to determine why this love affair exists, but this little piece of evidence certainly furthers my robot theory. Also, we can assume post-apocalyptic robots place little emphasis on gender, which explains why Carl might be wearing a woman’s coat.

Verdict: Tie ballgame!

Peculiar Behavior #3: This isn’t behavior per se, but Carl’s voice sounds like Kermit the Frog, if a drowsy Kermit swallowed a bug while mainlining Quaalude.

Debate: Well, Carl is either a person that gets kicked in the throat a lot or a robot that accidentally wandered into a giant microwave and partially melted his voice chip. Both scenarios are equally plausible, but in this instance I’m leaning toward the latter.

Verdict: Douche bag 1, Robot 2.

Peculiar Behavior #4: Carl beat boxes to himself between calls. One night he used his cell phone to record himself beat boxing and played the recording back several times, giggling.

Debate: This one is tough. I’ve only known one good human being to beat box, and he’s a short Italian with a large penis. He was also going through a rap phase at the time. Carl isn’t short and I assume he doesn’t meet the other qualifications either. This line of logic definitely leads down Douche Bag Lane (the same street Carlos Mencia lives on).

But what if that is how robots communicate? Maybe he wasn’t playing a recording of himself, maybe he was having a conversation on speakerphone and I couldn’t differentiate between the two voices. Like when Jay overhears Asian people talk and he just hears “Ping pong ping pong ping pong.”

Verdict: I was tempted to give Team Douche Bag 200 points, but instead I’ll just tie up this mystery at two points each.


Final Verdict: Can robots be douche bags?


Well, that’s all for to day. I’ll leave you with this week’s installment of…

Things I’ve (honestly) been forced to tell my girlfriend:

1. The “suck it” gesture is not a dance, no matter how much you want it to be.
2. You can’t say “I’ll wash your underwear” in a sexy voice. It doesn’t work.

Profiles in Courage

I figured if Axl Rose can release an album, I can write a blog. I’ll catch you up on my life at a later date, so why don’t you get acquainted with some of the people in my life:

The Who (oh, one other thing-- This blog is essentially for the amusment of those listed, so if you're not listed, you'll be bored. And you're probably a jerk)

My brother Jay, my dad, my mom, my sister Anne, my girlfriend Jamie, and my friend Hampton

Conventional Reasons to Like These People:

Jay: In the past, he was often punctual.

Dad: He’s always up for some drunken Taco Johns. Once when I was little I went with him as he drove for some drunken Taco Johns (you read that right) and he rather vehemently decried one of Jay’s friends for trying to steal all our winter hats. Of course, no one ever actually tried to steal our winter hats.

Mom: She takes care of people. For instance, she sometimes will go get my dad Taco Johns, so he doesn’t drunkenly run over nuns and school children on his way to the drive-thru.

Anne: Sometimes she’s overly sarcastic to other people and more or less leaves you alone.

Jamie: She sleeps 17 hours a day, so if she’s bothering you, you just need to wait her out. You know how some people (douchebags) say they work 25 hour days? Jamie added an extra hour to her day so she could sneak in another nap.

Hampton: You can always silence his calls.

Why I Actually Like These People:

Jay: Last weekend he claimed he calls his wife Kelsey “Red Skittle Vagina Candy.” Her reaction made me think he probably doesn’t call her this.

Dad: Once, at breakfast, my family was having a discussion about what kind of movie biopic would eventually be made about us (because it’s inevitable, right?). My dad said he wanted his movie to be “a poor black boy Lion King” story. He was very excited about this.

Mom: She’s disgusting. She refers to pooping as “brown potty” and has my and Jay’s game of “who can say the grossest thing?” into an art form. Here’s an exchange that took place this weekend:

Jay (Contemplative, then with conviction): I don’t know what I’d say after a blowjob.. Everyone should have a post-fellatio buzzword!

(Laughter, then silence)

Mom: Lord knows I do.

(Everyone vomits quietly)

Anne: She’s a great communicator. For example, if you’re having a conversation she doesn’t approve of, she’ll use her polite voice and say, “change the subject, this is boring,” or “Ugh! I don’t care what you’re talking about!” Then she’ll talk to you for hours about High School Musical.

Jamie: I’m going to answer this by getting you up to date on Jamie’s weekly schedule. Here’s how she actually spends her week:

Monday
Sleep until 5:30 pm
Eat
Workout
Eat
Nap
Eat
Pout

Tuesday
Sleep until 5:30 pm
Eat
Nap
Workout
Eat
Nap
Whine about getting a second dog

Wednesday
Sleep until 6:00 pm
Wake up, then nap
Eat
Make up song, sing it acapella (don’t stop singing, even if Dallas begs)
Tell Dallas you’ll do the dishes

Thursday
Sleep until 6:00 pm
Pout—refuse to smile or enjoy life
Take NO Shotgun—get really hyper
Try to annoy Dallas
Pout when it works
Nap
Workout

Friday
Sleep until 6:30 pm
Take something too seriously, but refuse to admit anger
Get mad at Dallas for asking why you are mad
Give Dallas a pizza cutter?
Make an excuse about why you haven’t done the dishes

Saturday
Sleep
Nap
Sleep

Sunday
Sleep until 5:30 pm
Thank Dallas for doing the dishes

I mean, how could you not love someone like that?

Hampton: He is apathy incarnate. He once ate only peanut butter and Oreo cookies for almost two months, simply because he forgot to eat other things. He lived in an apartment for an entire year without putting sheets on his bed—he thought it was a waste of time because he was planning on moving out someday.

Less Desirable Qualities:

Jay: He’s very very fun again, which makes him much more difficult to mock.

Dad: He’s blindly Republican despite overwhelming evidence the GOP is pure, unadulterated evil. Also, he steadfastly refuses to monetarily support me if I retire when I want/deserve to, in April 2009.

Mom: She’s blindly Republican just because other people are Democrats. Don’t look for the logic there. She felt that Sarah Palin had/has merit as a leader in government. Don’t look for the logic there, either. She waits until lunch or dinner to bring up horrific car accidents or ask us about our bowel movements That last one might have been just for me, though, because I used to only make brown potty once a week. Hey Mom, I’m up to once a day! Hooray for modern science!

Anne: She has cool friends, hip taste in clothes and music, and just entered college. Basically, when God sucked all the youth and fun out of your life, he gave it to people like Anne. You should resent her for this—now you’re stuck with flab and French onion party dip stains on your sweatpants.

Jamie: See List Above

Hampton: Some of my clothes still smell from when he refused to shower freshman year of college. No joke! One particular smelly Sunday I asked him, “Hey Hampty-Hamp, why do you smell as if you were peed on and covered in stink bait and buried in hot, sweaty manure and then spent five years of your life living in the dumpster behind a Vietnamese whorehouse/restaurant?”

Hampton replied, “I showered on Thursday. Like you shower on the weekend.” HE THOUGHT PEOPLE DIDN’T SHOWER ON THE WEEKEND! The hell?



Anyhoo, not a long blog. I’m just getting back in the swing of it, so sorry if it sucked. But don’t worry, I’ll post again when Axl’s robot sentience puts out his next album, recorded in a studio on Mars in the year 2064.

Wowzers!

The other day I received the following voice mail.

“Dallas, you uppity little bitch, this is your brother, I want to know how your god damn job is going, so you better call me when you get this fucking message. Also, update your blog, because it’s ridiculous you haven’t done anything with it since October 29th. Quite frankly, you should be shot in the head and watched die, by millions, on live TV.”

Now, some might say that he was being overly harsh, but I’m not one to rush to judgment. I thought, you know, Jay (that’s my brother) has updated his blog several times since my last update—Maybe I should see what he’s about, before I decide he’s a horse’s ass.

So I reread through several of his blogs, only to discover that yes, he is indeed a horse’s ass. To save you some time, I have summarized the most interesting points of his last several blogs:

1. He hates it when people waste quality glue that could be used for scrapbooking.

2. He’s watched the Godfather part III seven times, but bitches when other people waste a half an hour of his time.

3. He and I apparently once had a conversation about whether actors in softcore pornography are as unloved by their parents as actors in hardcore pornography. My guess is they are hated more, for going about their careers halfassed. Also, the fact this conversation took place is absolutely awesome.

4. He doesn’t think ass rape makes any sense.

5. He hates being yelled at by strangers in bad haircuts. How often could this possibly happen?

6. He assumes that if you use buses and trains as forms of transit, you have failed in your life. Then he bitches about American excess.

7. He thinks the joke about anesthesia isn’t ever funny. He is yet to hear the other, funnier joke about anesthesia.

8. He writes the term “errant cumshots” very casually, as if it is something he says every day.

9. He’s often wrong, very fucking wrong, when it comes to movies. The Green Mile is better than American Beauty? Fuck you, buddy. And sorry Jay, but There Will Be Blood was great. You can’t knock that movie when you actually liked Babel. In fact, you can’t have an opinion on anything when you say you like Babel. The only reason anyone likes Babel is because they are pretentious and simply want to anger reasonable people, who rightfully see that movie as smug bullshit. There Will Be Blood isn’t good—It is GREAT. It doesn’t meander, you just didn’t think hard enough (then again, you are a Michael Bay fan. You’re not really used to thinking).

10. He says he can shape shift into a bat. This makes him “think” he is a vampire.

11. He justifies his sloth by claiming it is preparation for when his soccer team’s plane crashes into the mountains.

Am I worried that Jay will be offended by any of this? No. His ego is great enough that he’ll be happy to read about himself. If anything, he’ll probably just be giggling at his own hilarity.

So anyway, he wanted a blog, here’s a blog. It certainly has been a long time since my last one, and yes, some things have changed—I graduated, I got a job, I lost 20 pounds, blah blah blah. Let’s get to the good stuff, what you really want to read about. That’s right—midget wrestling and chili cookoffs.

I almost saw midget wrestling in Des Moines a couple of weeks ago. I know, I know—how could I pass up such a great opportunity? Here’s how—it was never going to match my expectations for it. I mean, if I’m paying five American dollars to watch midgets wrestle, I expect one hell of a show. I expect the losers to be shot out of t-shirt cannons and taken home by lucky audience members, you know, things of that nature. I figured it probably wouldn’t happen that way, so I decided against going. I think I’m maturing. I’m willing to let my dreams of midget wrestling live instead of accepting a mediocre product. I bet my parents are proud.

As for the chili cookoff… Well, if you haven’t been to one, the time to do so is now. The one I attended was in some Podunk piece of crap Iowa town so small I don’t even remember the name of it, which is awesome in itself. The cookoff actually one several awards, all of which were made up and distributed by me.

The “Best Possible Thing Ever” Award goes to the men’s bathroom door of the bar in which the event was held. The lock was broken and there simply wasn’t a doorknob on the thing, so when I needed to pee I had to find somebody to hold the door shut for me, lest everyone see my dingle dangle.

The “Huh?” Award goes to my girlfriend, the beautiful and illustrious Jamie, who, believing our chili to be too hot, tried to carry the entire pot outside so she could put it in the snow. She still doesn’t understand why this makes no sense.

The “Funniest Possible Thing” Award goes to Jamie’s brother Brad, who decided to steal the first place trophy from the kindly old man who won it. I respect this decision. I mean, obviously us losing was bullshit. The method and strategy utilized to steal the trophy would’ve made James Bond proud. How did he steal the trophy? He grabbed it, ran out of the bar, fell on his ass in the snow, got back up, and put it in his car. Genius.

And finally, the “More Than Just Mildly Disturbing” Award goes to Jamie’s sister Jenna, who managed to make a chili that tasted exactly like licking the top of a piece of Hawaiian pizza. It wasn’t necessarily bad, it was just… off putting.

Also, I lost twenty pounds! I can see my penis again! Turns out it’s very small.