>>Last night we went to Role Models (funny as hell, by the way, I highly recommend it. I was LOLing the whole time) and right when one of the previews was starting, the sound suddenly shut off. After a half minute of confusion, the audience started making the sound effects, like a girl screaming when appropriate, and a bunch of explosion noises when a gas truck went over a cliff. This sent me into giggling hysterics (I've told you before, it's not hard to set me off) but the best part was about a minute into the preview, when all of a sudden Vin Diesel showed his face and it became obvious this was a preview for another Fast and the Furious movie. As soon as Diesel showed up on the screen, the whole theater collectively went "Ohhhhhhhh.....booooooo!!!!" and it was pretty much the funniest thing I've seen since 1993. Good moment for me and my paper-thin sense of humor, not such a good moment for Vin Diesel.
>>Now far be it from me to frown upon anything that Sonic does (considering that in the last 15 months, the only things that have brought me more happiness than their food was when KU won the national championship, and the time that I strangled that prostitute) but I have to disagree with their new "Brown Bag Special." Not because of the content- $6.99 for two burgers, two tots and two drinks is a steal of a deal, although there is a distinct lack of chili cheese wraps in that equation- but because of its name. Really, the Brown Bag Special? That's what dudes call a girl with a slammin' body and a brutal face (i.e. every girl that Russell has ever hit on in the last 8 years.) I have heard on the streets that there is also a more disgusting use of the term "Brown Bag Special" and it involves shitting on your ballsack and then receiving a beejer, but that's not really my cup of tea.
>>You know at the top of your hotmail screen they have those advertisements where it says something like "Stop. Stare. Flirt." and there's some chick in a wife beater bouncing around and giggling on her bed as she's typing on her computer? I don't really know any more about what exactly it's promoting, because if I want to flirt with some random girls, I'll just log into a Britney Spears fan club chat room and wham-o! All the 12-year-olds I can handle. Luvz2partee69 is my screen name, little inside info for you there.
Anyway, one of the girls in one of those ads looks EXACTLY like a girl I used to work with back when I was a youngster. It's uncanny. This girl, who we'll call Wendy, had a bit of a, um, reputation. When the college kids would invite us 15-year-olds to parties and she wasn't there, all the dudes would be laughing and talking about who nailed her last weekend (while Bergman and I enthusiastically laughed and high-fived along with them, all while we excitedly reflected upon how drunk we were after 4 Rolling Rocks, and called our parents to tell them we were sleeping over at the other's house, so don't wait up. Man, 1998 was a great year.)
Later, during a wedding reception, Wendy flashed me on the miniature golf course at the Townhouse, back in the time when I thought that naked boobs were just a myth, and if it wasn't for the foursome of rambunctious 9-year-olds waiting to play through, who knows how far things would have escalated. I haven't seen Wendy in over 4 years now, and haven't had a real conversation with her since 2002. So I guess my point (which only took me three paragraphs and around 300 words to get to) is: I would not even be remotely surprised if online flirting with creepy old dudes was what she was doing for her paychecks now.
>>The dangers of listening to rap music, scene 1: This occurred on Halloween. After work, me and a middle-aged gentleman who works for another business in our building were walking to the parking lot at the same time. I haven't really talked to him before, so we're making small talk as we go- "Oh, that's your Element? I was wondering whose that was, I like it." "Yeah, love the head room, very spacious, blah blah blah."
So I get into my car and start it up and turn on my iPod. The current song is winding down into silence. Before I shut my door, the guy asks me about my gas mileage. As I'm about to answer, the next song on the shuffle starts up, and it's "Hit Em Up" by Tupac. For those who don't know, the first line of that song is That's why I fucked yo' bitch, you fat mutha fucka! As the guy gives me a horrified look, all I can do is meekly smile and mumble "Well...have a Happy Halloween!" and leave tracks pulling out of my parking spot.
The dangers of listening to rap music, scene 2: A couple days ago I'm at a gas station filling up my right rear tire. I leave the car running and the windows down. My volume is up kind of loud (I lost 40% of the hearing in my left ear from a football injury- don't judge me.) As "Still" by the Geto Boys is blaring, a car full of black guys pulls up alongside me to get some gas. At this juncture I have 4 choices:
1. Jump into my car and turn down the volume
2. Jump into my car and flee the premises, flat tire be damned
3. Acknowledge the black guys by making eye contact and proudly flash them a gangsta-ass 'W'
4. Pretend that my tire is really, REALLY flat, and stay hunched down and out of sight until they leave
I chose option 4.
I found it ironic that in such an obvious Michael Bolton from Office Space scenario, I was listening to a song from that very soundtrack. A black girl I used to know nicknamed me Michael Bolton the day after she saw that movie. She strolled into a party and immediately yelled "Aaaawwwww shiiiiiiit...Jim's heeeerrrrreeee!!! I was hopin' you be here, I just saw Office Space, y'all!!!! Fuckin' Michael Bolton and shiiiit!!!" And then she called me that, relentlessly, every single time she saw me, which thankfully wasn't that much. Ahhh well, if the shoe fits, I guess.
Happy Sunday, hopefully everyone is enjoying the couch as much I am today.
