October 6, 2009

I just asked CLM if she wanted to go to Coldstone for ice cream and she declined (that’s not newsworthy, women reject me all the time). She said she couldn’t because she’s moving.

I assume she means packing, because it was 9:15 at night. And you don’t move at 9:15 at night. That’s how you end up explaining things to the police. Trust me. I’m the voice of experience on this one.

When I was in Dayton, I moved from one apartment in a complex to another. And I moved on an October evening in the fall. The A’s and Yankees were playing in the ALDS that night and I was carrying loads of things from one apartment to the other between innings. Needless to say, I soon had a flashlight in my face because someone called the police.

Looking back, I saw that flashlight a lot in Dayton, and it’s kind of funny that I’d have the police all in my face in Ohio about half a dozen times, and exactly none since moving to MurderOrleans. That instance in Ohio was the first of I believe five times someone called the police on me:

The second, I got a new car stereo for my birthday and was attempting the install myself. I was on a tight schedule because I was driving to New York in the morning and wanted to have tunes for the ride. So there I was, popping out a car stereo at 12:30 am.

The third time, I was sitting on my porch smoking a cigar at around 11, the night my neice was born. When a cop approached because there was an attempted break in somewhere in the complex, and the victim said “they went that way.” The cop questioned me breifly, but left me alone when I asked “was the perpetrator smoking a $26 Davidoff R-Series Churchill Cigar?”

The cop said “I don’ believe so no.”
I said “This is a $32 cigar. Which should be only smoked when celebrating new members of the family. There could have been a pile of Plasma TVs in the middle of the parking lot, and I’m wouldn’t put this thing down.”

Number four was probably the silliest. I was at my friend’s house and we were talking about baseball and how we loved hitting. Needless to say, we were standing over his coffee table pantomiming our swings. He noticed my lefty swing and my righty swing were different. I didn’t know they were. So he asked if I ever swung in front of a mirror. After driving home, I was smoking a cigar, and standing outside my window, looking at the reflection, swinging from each side of the plate to see a difference (my lefty swing was dropping the back elbow A LOT). And someone called the police because they thought I was going to break in.
I told the officer “If I was going to break in, I’d have done it by now. I’m just looking at my swing in the window.”
I don’t know if he would have believed me, but the batting gloves might have helped.

And there was one more time, where the cops came to my door to tell me that someone had broken into my car. They apprehended two teenagers who went down a row of cars in the parking lot taking all the change and CDs, in the grocery store 50 yards away, dumping their haul into the coin star. I was irate because to take my CDs, they snapped off my visor instead of removing the CDs individually or taking the CD holder. The CDs were all MP3 discs (and a lot of gospel). I’d have let them have them if they wanted them.

I’m pretty sure that any of those activities in New Orleans wouldn’t make a single person bat an eyelash, let alone call the cops. As Renny from Big Brother 10 said: “Honey, I’m from New Orleans. I see people dressed like aliens every day.”


May 4, 2009

I’ve been busy relocating to a new pad (which is pimptastic. and cheaper), so I’ve been lax in both writing, and having interesting things happen besides picking things up, driving them across town and putting them down.

One thing I had to do was drop off my cable box and remote at Cox Cable, since my new place has DirecTV.

Now, the Cox building is far away from anything, full of disgruntled customers and slow moving southern beaurocrats. You take a number and sit. Only everyone has different letters which starts your number, So it goes from “Now serving B394891” to “Now Server E1389284.” Which leaves you sitting there praying for death.

This D-Bag sells D-Bundles.

This D-Bag sells D-Bundles.

It’s like the DMV, only with more comfortable seating and TVs everywhere. But the TVs are on the Cox Cable propoganda station. All I see is a this animated D-Bag, telling me I can save a bundle, yada yada yada. I’m thinking “What a waste, 700 channels and we’re stuck watching this? Wait. I have a remote in my hand!”

So I turn the channel to ESPNHD. Bam. SportsCenter. Life is good.

Other people saw what I did, and those of whom which also had remotes in their hands changed the TVs near them.

I flipped around, trying to find something better when a guy sat down next to me and was mezmorized. I told him the remote worked, and hopefully he liked my taste.

They finally called my number, and that guy quickly change the channel.

It only occurred to me later that I should have checked channels I don’t get, instead of flipping around HD. Maybe they had some awesome movies on PPV. Or maybe they got the Spice Channel. That would have been hysterical, to change it to the Spice Channel on my way out and crank the volume as I escaped and left the people in the waiting room watching some different Cox programming.

Get it? It’s a pun. Cox.

Funeral Phanatics

April 17, 2009

Phillies broadcaster Harry Kalas died this week. And while you’re probably expecting some joke because I hate the Phillies, I am way classier than that. Here’s my question though. When a guy associated with a team for 30 years passes, everyone from the organization is going to go to the memorial service, right?

Well what about the mascot, the Philly Phanatic? I think he should go.

Philly Phanatic

Philly Phanatic

#1 – He’s one of the symbols of the franchise. His paying respects is a symbolic gesture.

#2 – Unlike a lot of mascots, the Philly Phanatic’s expression isn’t a broad smile, which would be slightly inappropriate for a funeral.

However, not mine. I’d love to have a mascot, or several, at my funeral. That’s be awesome. I’ m sure there would be children at my funeral. And I don’t want them sad. So the mascots could cheer them up.

The mascot attendance list for my funeral would include (but not be limited to):

Mr. Met (only time black outfit is appropriate!)

Mr. Met (only time black outfit is appropriate!)

Iceburgh (Pittsburgh Penguins)

Iceburgh (Pittsburgh Penguins)

Big Red (Western Kentucky)

Big Red (Western Kentucky)

Big Red (Western Kentucky)

The Saint Josephs Hawk...

The Saint Joseph's Hawk...

The Hawk would be awesome because he’d have to flap his arms the whole time. High comedy.

The New Jersey Devil

The New Jersey Devil

New Jersey Devil (New Jersey Devils)

Now that would be high comedy. Also, can someone get this guy a name? His name is New Jersey Devil.

I’m sure there’s more awesome mascots who could come to my funeral. Since I hate the Phillies, maybe the Phanatic could dance on my grave.

Caution: Hard Hat Area

December 17, 2008

Nothing really exciting is going on right now.  Last night we had the unofficial work holiday party at a local bar. We had a back room to ourselves, and a free keg of some mediocre American Lite Beer. About eight of us stayed til the bitter end. Lots of people left to go get food, which was odd because the place we were at actually had food.

The others left in two large groups,and I wasn’t sure who was in each group and who went where. Which led to one (in hindsight) hilarious text exchange with a coworker, who thought I was asking if she “left with” a male coworker of ours. She inferred that I was being a drunk a-hole and implying she was engaged in scandalous extracurricular activities, when in fact I was really trying to ascertain where to take the party to.

We ended up taking it… no where. Because we had a freaking free keg in the backroom! Why would you leave a free keg?

We tried to get rid of the keg, but the cups just weren’t big enough. Lucky for us, one person brought a construction hard hat with him. So we filled it with beer and passed it around.

Because that’s not exciting, here’s Bert and Ernie rocking out to Ante Up:

I Hate Fruit

December 9, 2008

Don’t get me wrong, fruit itself is delicious. It just has no business getting involved in alcoholic drinks.

I now have a clogged sink in my office (there’s a kitchenette right behind my desk) that is the epitome of nasty. And I blame the fruity shots of pineapple booze I was ordered to consume by a superior officer. I felt just fine, until in order to combat dehydration, I had some orange Gatorade. Hello flashbacks to the pineapple, goodbye stomach contents, hello nasty sink.

The lesson, as always: Clear or Brown, Drink it Down. Yellow or Pink, Don’t You Drink.

Linkage: You know you wanna see the picture of the clogged sink