Friday, June 17, 2011


Alright, so it’s been five months since my last post, and needless to say, I’ve forgotten a lot of things. Heck, I even forgot which host site I had used to publish myself. Haha. I had to go around the internets and stopped at before I ended up at Good times.

So after my five month hiatus (which would have been longer had I not been harassed), the big question is, “What the hell am I going to write about?” Having already blogged on squirrels getting busy, being rejected by a make believe dictionary, and bed head, there’s just not a lot left to talk about. Not going to lie, after writing that last sentence, my mind drifted for a solid five minutes. I think I started to fall asleep, when I was rudely brought back to consciousness by a twitch in my right arm. Ah, the twitch!

In some unofficial polls, I twitch more than anyone I know. No, it’s not the “I’m awake and it’s a full scale psychological warfare tick / twitch” (, it’s the “I’m sleeping and my muscles need to stretch out” twitch, or the much more hilarious and dangerous “I’m dreaming but my body doesn’t think so” twitch. Let me explain the difference (warning, the following does not contain any science):

-        The first type of twitch that I experience, which is the “I’m sleeping and my muscles need to stretch out” twitch, is relatively mundane and unassuming. I work out, play sports, and am generally active, and sometimes when I’m asleep, my leg will kick out slightly, or my hand will clench. I think most people have this natural twitchility (twitch-ability, new word!), and in watching a significant other sleep (creepy!!), have confirmed as such. Therefore, this type of twitch really isn’t a big deal.

-        The “I’m dreaming but my body doesn’t think so” twitch is on an entirely different level. Sometimes the twitching is entertaining (even to myself), sometimes it’s harmful (don’t worry, only harmful to others, not myself). In both instances, I’m usually dreaming about playing basketball. In the make believe world in my head, I’ll be trying to catch a pass, but in the real world, both my arms will shoot out in the direction that the make believe ball is coming towards. Take my flight to Thailand for example. Having taken the red-eye, I had just sat down and was already passing out when I started dream-ballin (new word!). I reached up to grab an alley-oop pass and must’ve hit the seat in front of me, because I was awake just long enough to hear the people next to me say, “Hey look, that guy’s twitching again!” I remember their laughter before I passed right back out. Good times.

Apparently this is the first image you get when you google: “dream balling”

-        Now, if you’re a bystander on a plane, or you sat two rows above me in econ lecture, the twitching is pretty funny. But if you’re a significant other who likes to cuddle, BEWARE (I know, I’m really selling myself well here)! When that make believe basketball is heading in the direction of your kidney, or if you're less fortunate, your face, I’m....sorry? I haven’t landed too many haymakers in my time (that I’ve been told about), but luckily I’ve never woken up to see a black eye staring back at me, or worse yet, woken up with a black eye (in retaliation).

Pandas have black eyes, get it??

So that’s that. Maybe I have a sleep disorder, maybe I should invest in straight jacket pajamas, maybe I should stop blogging…

These look comfy!

For some extra hilariousness about other people with problems, check out this twitch forum link:

Wednesday, January 12, 2011

Cowlick Conundrum

So, my mornings are pretty routine. There's not much change after my first alarm goes off and before I jump into my car to head to work. It usually goes something like this (internal monologue in parentheses):

- 1st phone alarm goes off (No biggie, just the first alarm. Time for more sleep, "hooray!")

- 2nd phone alarm goes off twenty minutes later (Hmm, second alarm? I've still got one more. My bed is warm, so nice and warmzzzzzz).

- 3rd alarm, which is located across the room, goes off (Holy eff you are annoying. Fine, I'll get up, but not because you're making me. It's because I want to...smash you against the wall).

- Stumble to bathroom. Turn on lights (my eyes!). Pee (aaaaahhh). Wash hands (so cold!). Put in contacts (I can see!). Take vitamin. Wash face.

- Walk to closet. Get dressed.

- Walk back to bathroom. Clothes sanity check (still sane). Apply hair product. Notice cowlick (dammit, again?). Apply water to affected area. Towel dry. Apply more hair product to said area (success!).

- Walk downstairs. Grab computer. Get in car.

Now, the process above only takes thirty minutes from first alarm to car entrance, but today, today was a full scale follicle frenzy. A cowlick conundrum if you will. After I washed my face and looked up, I was literally taken aback. Did I just scare the crap out of myself? Underwear, I'm good. WTF is that on my head?!? What happened while I was sleeping? Did a cow sneak in and lick my hair between alarms one and two? What would a cow that jacked me up this badly even look like?

Ok, it couldn't have been one of those cute little cartoon cows:

I'm adorable. Love me!

It couldn't have been your run of the mill cow:

I'm totally harmless and a bit thirsty. Love me!
(Does this remind anyone else of Dave Chappelle's "Making the Band" skit? Stop at 5:05 for comparison)

It must've been this cow:

I'mmmmmmm goinggggg to lick every last piece of hairrrrr on your headdddd! 
Try sleeping ever againnnn! 

I ended up taking a shower. Shampooed my hair twice. Was late to work. I'd lock my door going forward or threaten to eat more beef, but I know, they're watching me:

I'm watching you.

Tuesday, January 11, 2011


Today I got rejected, and no, it's not what you're thinking. Natalie Portman didn't deny the rumors that I am in fact her baby's daddy.

Even bald, my baby's momma is hot.

Harverd (spelling?) wait listed me after I applied for their graduate program: Twenty Somethings That Want to Read Good and Do Other Stuff Good Too.

They sell trucker hats, Ashton!

Heck, even the bum on the Aurora street corner obliged when I asked him to be my next Ted Williams (though I quickly found out that he confuses "Golden Voice" with "Golden Sho..," you get the point). No, it's way worse. I got rejected from (cue dire situation button).

See, in my previous post, I created a new word, "Dumbasstisity," in the high hopes of an early submission for Merriam-Webster's 2011 Word of the Year. I figure if "Austerity" won in 2010, when a couple government bailouts here and there caused everyone to get all high and mighty about their vocab, heck, dumbasstisity must've been rampant and should be recognized in our current trip around the sun. But I digress, back to my rejection. I've copied and pasted the exact email I received from those online dict regulators:

"Urban Dictionary - Dumbasstisity was not published

Thanks for your definition of Dumbasstisity!
Editors reviewed your entry and have decided to not publish it.
To get a better idea of what editors publish and reject, sign up as an Urban Dictionary Editor here:
Urban Dictionary
The feeling of being a dumbass.
Man, your dumbassticity levels must have definitely increased since you've started using the Shake Weight."

First, their automatic response system didn't even address me by name and didn't want me replying to their "Noreply" hate hate hate mail. Rude I say.

Second, the site's own definition of what an "Urban Dictionary Editor" is, states that editors are, "The one thing that stands between the masses and the ramblings of pre-pubescent, ghetto-homeboys. This title is easily obtained, but is a public service that the community should use more often, which would keep at least some idiocies off the internet." I'm pissed, they called me pre-pubescent! Everyone knows my voice is just a little high at times!

Third, these are the same people that allowed "Pizzarrhea" and "M.I Ya Yo" to be published. I should just shoot myself in the face right now.

<30 minutes later>

...Well, although I'm down and currently faceless, I'm not going to stop submitting my gems until I get one approved. Until then, I'll go ahead and post dose #2 before I, you know, forget.

Sunday, January 9, 2011

First Dose & Furry Fornication

I'm not really sure why my memory is so horrible, but it's really starting to bug me. It's not that I just can't remember a name when I first meet someone, or that I rely completely on my outlook calendar to keep track of my life, but it's the quizzical look on faces as I repeat a question for which I already have the information to answer. As a result, awkwardness ensues (which I enjoy), but I do also end up feeling like a dumbass (which I don't enjoy).

The Internets list the main causes of forgetfulness as old age, trauma, smoking, alcohol abuse, and medical conditions such as Alzheimer's. Well, I'm not geriatric, I wear a helmet 24/7, I only inject, alcohol abuses me, and I still remember who my imaginary friends are. So far so good. I've got a few additional thought loss theories of my own, but I'll save that for another time. The real reason for this (and all future) musings is simple. Somehow, some way, maybe these blogs will act as my own personal memory supplement and help re-energize and rebuild what little is left of my hippocampus, cerebrum, etc...Dose by dose, maybe the dumbasstisity (already submitted to Urban Dictionary, now pending review) will dampen. If all else fails, I'll have proper evidence years from now that I was indeed an idiot, but for several other unrelated reasons.

So let's begin with dose #1.

Today, I got out of bed (at 12:30pm) and opened up the blinds in my living room downstairs. Lo and behold, the partly cloudy Sunday afternoon decided to greet me with two squirrels humping on top of the fence in my backyard. While going at it from behind, the squirrel on top was oh so softly caressing the one below. It felt wrong watching, but it also felt right when I reached for my phone to take a picture, and possibly some video for the Discovery Channel (Gentle Mammals week is coming in March!). Needless to say, the iPhone's ability to zoom in from thirty feet blows. Anyways, the squirrels must have caught a glimpse of movement as I shook my fist in the air and scurried off. I swear though, the squirrel on top gave me a look right before it left that I'll never forget, one similar to this gem below:

My bad squirrel, my bad.