Saturday, January 19, 2008

49 Things That Don't Suck

1. Cute nurses in lab coats.

2. BLT's with extra "B."

3. Every single hilarious episode of "The Office."

4. Freshly cleaned sheets.

5. A large popcorn with extra butter lightly salted.

6. Friend's who call back.

7. Dogs that become your best friend after you scratch their neck.

8. Being witty on the radio.

9. Short-haired women who smile back.

10. Any and all hugs.

11. Acts of random kindness.

12. The "Back to the Future" trilogy.

13. A good, solid two hour workout.

14. The morning after a rainstorm.

15. Poolside bikini clad women.

16. Paid vacations without any calls from work.

17. Lowering a notch on the belt.

18. Any and all Converse tennis shoes.

19. Doors being held open for me to enter.

20. An emotional rendition of the National Anthem.

21. Hiking in Howarth Park.

22. Nearly pain free Dialysis treatments.

23. Laughing hysterically with my parents.

24. Sleeping until 2pm and feeling great afterwards.

25. Baked potatoes with all the trimmings.

26. Women who take the time to flirt.

27. Any and all Pixar movies.

28. That first giant hill on a roller coaster.

29. Martina McBride's vocal talent.

30. Seeing your work in print.

31. Winning a hand of blackjack.

32. Making someone laugh loudly and uncontrollably.

33. Having a movie theater all to yourself.

34. Reaching the top of a mountain.

35. Every episode of "Late Show with David Letterman."

36. Having a sudden creative surge.

37. Coca-Cola in a glass.

38. The contentment over a job well done.

39. Anything written by Chuck Palahniuk.

40. Free pizza.

41. A magical first date.

42. Receiving a thank you note.

43. The new "Battlestar Galactica."

44. The "Sports" album from Huey Lewis and the News.

45. Getting a new NetFlix film in the mail.

46. Dressing sharp.

47. Good conversation.

48. Butter pecan ice cream.

49. Realizing that it's not all bad.

Friday, January 18, 2008

Stormy's California Vacation

Stormy was mingling about the Northern Portion of Alaska, chilling everyone to their inner soul when he decided he'd had enough.

Alaska was boring.

And not just the run-of-the-mill boring where you yawn a few times and then take a nap. Then wake up, devour a ham sandwich and flip around on the tube realizing five hundred channels has not made you a better creature.

Stormy decided since the weather never changes, he'd take a quick vacation down to California. He believed he'd make all the news channels with a little visit to the Sunshine State.

And he was right.

As Stormy approached the thermometer dipped to the low to mid 40's. And just to make sure the attention stayed, he spread snow down to the 1000 foot level. A little hail and sleet in the low lying valleys.

Then he was tired so he took a nap, just planting himself upon the upper half of California, content in the fact that he actually made a name for himself.

When he awoke two days later, he found that people were still talking about him.

They never talked about him in Alaska because nothing ever changed.

But then Stormy heard a loud clap of thunder and the air reverberating against his mass.

"Oh crap," thought Stormy. "I forgot to tell Mother Nature where I was going."

And she was pissed.

"Stormy, why aren't you in Alaska where you're supposed to be??"

Stormy was going to submit and simply crawl back to the Alaska tundra, but he knew that wouldn't make him happy.

"Look what I've accomplished MN! Take a look! They're all talking about me!"

Mother Nature closed her eyes and meditated upon the conversations miles below. Surprisingly, Stormy was absolutely right.

Stormy lowered his voice and sheepishly continued.

"I'd really like to stay for a while. It's just a little vacation. Alaska is so boring and nothing ever changes. These people aren't used to these conditions. I'm all they talk about."

Mother Nature rumbled lowly with bouts of thunder as she mused upon his request.

And then a huge smile came upon her face.

"Alright Stormy. But you only get four more cycles. Then you must return."

Stormy was so excited he dropped another half inch of snow near the 1500 foot level of the higher elevations. A little hail in the valley. Stormy was ecstatic.

As Mother Nature faded into the distance, Stormy began to map out his weather for the next four cycles. That's when trouble blew in from the North.

Breezy was here. And he didn't care for the fact that Stormy was getting all the attention from Mother Nature.

So he blew. And blew again. And blew some more. And there was nothing Stormy could do about it.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked Breezy.

"You think California's fun. Wait until you get to Colorado. They'll love you there too."

Stormy tried to continue his weather cycle, but it was too late. He was already fading past Lake Tahoe.

But then Stormy realized, this is what he always wanted. To give new lands and different people weather they'd never encountered before.

Little did he know, as he made his way around the planet, that he'd be back. Just in a different form.

Stormy would morph into Blizzard. And then Monsoon. Later that year, Hurricane.

And he loved every minute of it. The original Stormy found his purpose in life.

Eventually the warming waters dissipated his strength and he evaporated and spread upon the seas.

But Stormy finally found purpose and that's all one can really hope for from Life.

Thursday, January 17, 2008

And On the Sixth Day, He Created Farts, Just for Fun

When God was creating Man in his own image, there are certain personal humorous touches he wished to add to entertain Himself when He needed a break from Creation.

Creating everything is hard work, even for God.

As He was perfecting the Human Specimen, He would occasionally indulge in fermented nectar. It was sweet and smooth and made His essence feel tingly all over.

It was late one evening and God was on the Fifth Day of Creation. He was tired and melancholy. The loves and the fishes were easy, but this Man Creature was becoming quite troublesome.

And He only had two days left. God likes deadlines. Keeps Him on schedule.

There's nothing more tragic than a Procrastinating God.

He had been testing the Human Intestinal System and couldn't quite get it right. Oh sure, it worked just fine, absorbing nutrients and ridding the Human Body of excess waste.

But still, He was not impressed by this amazingly routine process.

It needed a little extra "oomph" as God called it.

He believed that there would be times in the lives of His Human Creation that Man would be unhappy.

This made God sad.

He wished for the Human Body to have a surprise that could erupt at any given moment.

And thus the miraculous Fart was born.

God spent the last thirty six hours of Creation dabbling in Farts.

He started with the smaller ones that Poot out and can make you jump. He decided to save these for the Woman. He believed it would suit for their feminine sensibilities.

Then He created the Stutter. Long and loud. This one made God giggle with glee.

The Foghorn. The Squeaker. The Sneaker and Squeaker.

The Flubber. The Jelly. The Hidden and the Smelly.

The Killer. The Medley. The Silent But Deadly.

So for the remainder of eternity, whenever a Fart graces your existence take note that somewhere, God is laughing his ass off.

Wednesday, January 16, 2008

The Decline of Retail Shopping

I abhor shopping. I do most of my shopping online, unless I know I can find it easily and promptly at a local brick and mortar.

I had just a couple errands to run today and wouldn't you know the people I experienced in said stores were ridiculous.

I needed some personal stationary to write a quick thank you note for someone who helped me recently. You'd be surprised how much people appreciate a nice handwritten note to express how you feel about their actions. I keep them handy but I recently ran out.

I went into the local Hallmark registered franchise and found some nice, simple blue stationary that wasn't too expensive. Since there's only a couple of other people in the store, I figure I'll get out quick with very little hassle.

The women at the counter was elderly with a sour look on her face. Every time I meet a senior, I always expect them to act like my parents: friendly, cordial and occasionally hilarious.

That was just not to be.

"Oh, well. Do you have anything smaller than a $20?" She waved my bill in the air like it shared an offensive odor with a homeless man who had just been dumpster diving.

"I'm sorry, but I don't." I had just been to the ATM and this was my first stop.

She stared me down with an intimidating look, wondering whether to believe me or not. She let out a frustrated sigh and still stood there. I wanted to swipe my twenty back and flee before she called her senior minions on me.

"Well, maybe in the safe."

I thought, "Oh boy, I'm going to be here until Memorial Day."

She finally grabbed the bills that would make up my change.

"God I hate ATM's. In my day you carried proper change for people."

I'm sorry lady, but in your day currency was made from the hides of small animals. Even though she put me off, I still smiled and said, "Thank you" as cheerily as I could.

Nothing ticks off a foul person more than cheeriness. Now if her attitude had veered only slightly in the positive direction, I would have been happy to return at my next birthday card need.

Instead, I have made a mental note never to enter this location again. By the looks of things, they may not be in business much longer.

Thus my work here is done.

My shopping nightmare only continued at Trader Joe's. I love shopping there because with your healthy purchases you always get a side of strange people. And they all smell like incense for some reason.

I believe they're called "hippies."

Truth be told I hate hippies. They always talk about making change and putting on rock concerts, but then you ask them what they're protesting and they've never quite sure because they're cranked up some illicit substance.

Your experience may differ, but that's where I stand on hippies.

Anyway, I digress.

I'm finally finished searching through organic this and additive free that and I make my way to the cashier. Behind the counter are two rather plump women talking non-stop, without taking a breath, about their boyfriends.

"Oh God, my boyfriend rocked my world last night. He did this thing with his tongue that was unbelievable."

I might as well take the groceries back because I just lost my appetite for the next ten days.

"I can top that. My boyfriend cut his tongue on my nipple ring and there was blood everywhere."

My God, Gross the Sequel.

I try to give them a look like I'd just like them to shut the hell up because their stories made me vomit a little in my mouth.

Again, because of poor customer service I will never use my duckets at this establishment again.

Fortunately, we have another Trader Joe's on the north side of town.

For those of you in the retail industry, may I just say this:

Because of your rudeness, or that of your employees, you're killing all future business at your establishment. With the advent of the internet, Americans love to complain and will do it as loud as possible whenever they have the chance.

When I type in "I Hate..." into Google, here's some of the results:

I Hate Starbucks
I Hate Blockbuster
I Hate Subway
I Hate Best Buy

What I find entertaining is I agree with all of the above statements.

With so many choices for the American dollar don't you think as a business owner you'd do everything possible to gain the trust and loyalty of everyone?

Maybe that's why I don't work in retail.

I have too much common sense.

Tuesday, January 15, 2008

The Dating Dilemma

There are a number of beautiful women working at my Dialysis clinic and I wish to thank them for their attendance. It makes the entire hellish procedure a little easier to endure.

But there's one in particular that I've had my eye on for a while.

And I think she may like me too.

I keep getting messages from the staff that she says, "Hello." And asks how I'm doing.

It's always cool to know that someone you like is thinking about you.

She's very lovely. Milky skin, great smile and very enjoyable to talk to.

But aye, here's the rub...

I haven't been on a date in over a year.

Before that, the women who I had given a chance to bask in my company were a little less than pleased about my circumstances:

"What do you mean you don't own your own house? Loser."

You try buying a house when a substantial portion of your income is used simply to keep you alive.

"Oh, ugh, gross. Your shirt is all bloody. I don't want to get AIDS."

My bandages on my access gave way and bloodied up my dress shirt. That last part is just pure ignorance.

"I"m just going out with you to make my boyfriend jealous."

I just simply walked out on that one.

"Can you cover up your arm? Your vein thingey makes me want to vomit."

One part of my body makes you sick huh? What happens if you ever get the chance to see all the other parts? Are you going to turn inside out?

"Why didn't you take me to 'such and such expensive place you can't afford'? A real man would have taken me there."

I walked out again. I have no idea how she got home.

So as you might have guessed, I'm terrified of taking a chance on someone new.

But I have a good feeling about her. My highly developed "Bitch Meter" tickles "E" when she's around.

Asking her out at clinic seems kinda creepy though. I hear stories about how some of the elderly male patients will say the most inappropriate, sexually harassing things to the female staff members.

I guess they figure they're old and life already sucks on Dialysis so what the hell?

The last thing I want though is unintentional membership in their club.

I have to do something though. I can't stop thinking about her.

Any suggestions are greatly appreciated.

Thank you and good night.

Monday, January 14, 2008

Stacy's Overzealous Gym Rules

If I were to run a health club the following would be posted at the entrance and enforced without question:

"Stacy's Overzealous Gym Rules"

1. For you beefy, preening idiots who never rack your weights and leave over 200 pounds on the machine so those of us who have normal size penises can use the equipment:

--- If caught, you will be forced to rack weights and apologize to the next user.
--- Said user will then be allowed to bean you in the genitals with a forty pound weight.
--- You will then be forced to stand outside the club for one hour while said forty pound weight is dangled from your manhood.
--- Whatever is left is allowed to return to the club in two weeks.

2. For you lazy cretins who leave a puddle of sweat on the equipment without wiping it off:

--- If caught, you will be forced to rewipe the machine thoroughly, grease the gears and scrub the controls.
--- You must then take what you wipe up and apply it directly to your skin and cover every inch.
--- You are then required to stand at the exit to the club and allow used towels, jock straps and soiled toilet paper to be applied to your body.
--- If you survive, you will be allowed to return to the club in ten days.

3. For you desperate neanderthals who grunt, yell and shriek every time you lift a weight in hopes that one of the beautiful women in attendance will hop on top of you and grind away:

--- You will be placed in the back of the leg press and one member after another will be allowed to press the machine into place smashing your skull.
--- You will NOT be allowed to grunt, yell or shriek the entire time. If you do, said member will press again until you're quiet.
--- This will go on until you admit you're a preening idiot and disgust everyone in attendance.
--- If you survive, you will be allowed to return to the club in fourteen days.

You may be asking yourself, "Stacy, why do you continue to go the health club when the aforementioned individuals above annoy and disgust you?"

I want to look good naked.

Sunday, January 13, 2008

Radio Listening 101

I realize that only 5% of actual radio listeners actually call a radio station, but I am here free of charge to help those of you who have no idea what the hell you're doing.

And I speak to you on a daily basis. In most cases, this drives me crazy.

I've been in the radio industry as an on-air personality now for ten years. In that time, I've come to realize that every call I answer is a quick psychological profile. I speak to all races and all demographics.

And because of these calls, I now weep for the future.

Here, listen in on a phone call from earlier this afternoon:

"Hi, KRAP Radio."

"Um, ugh, well...ugh."

Long pause. Heavy breathing.

"Yes, can I help you?"

"Yeah, uh, is this KRAP radio?"

"That's what I said a moment ago."

The kid can't be older than twelve and seems to have an incredibly difficult time communicating with what sounds like his native language.

"Can I hear, um, ugh, well, ugh, a song?"

Finally, we've reached the point of his call. And I've wasted forty seconds of my life.

"Yeah, um, well...." Another long pause. I'm poking myself in the eye with a Sharpie.

"That song with, ugh, um, the guy with the..." I'm miming a gun to my head.

As my surprise that this numb skull even had the skill to dial a seven digit number evaporates, I simply hang up.

No human should have to put up with this level of ignorance. This is where the IMing and text messaging are ruining our youth. Since they use two or three letter phrases as shorthand for actual grammatical language, they have no idea how to put together a coherent sentence.

And this is why I weep.

What follows now are rules for the remainder of you that have a brain, but somehow lose IQ points the instant I answer the phone.

1. Pay Attention

--- I can't tell you how many times I've gone to the phones to get the correct caller for front row concert tickets to a sold out show and here's what I hear:

"Uhhh...what?" Click. You lost buddy. If this individual said anything, ANYTHING else that sounded intelligent, they would have had a great time at a sold out show and saved a couple hundred dollars.

2. Sound Conscious

--- Again, if I go to you for a great prize and you sound like you just took an Ambien, I'm going to the next caller. Simple as that. If you sound dead now, you're going to be completely unbearable on the air and bring the station to a screeching halt.

3. Use Common Sense

--- If you request a song I JUST played, I won't be playing it for at least another four hours. Do not beg me simply because it's your favorite song and you have to hear it or you'll just die.

Yes, this is mostly teenage girls.

And if you do request a song and it gets played LISTEN TO THE SONG. Requesting a song and then failing to listen drives me frickin' insane. It also helps you accumulate what I affectionately refer to as Dopey Karma.

And when you request a song THAT I'M PLAYING RIGHT NOW you're obviously not listening to the radio and don't deserve a request. I feel bad for you but I get over it pretty quickly.

4. Don't Say the Name of the Competition

--- This is usually these wise ass guys who think they're Dane Cook.

"And what station just made you a winner?"

"KRUD, 97.4!"

Then you have one of these little stutter laughs like Beavis. In the past I would kindly ask them to answer again, but with the correct call letters so I can edit out their brilliant comedy.

Now, it's a simple click and I go to the next caller for $1000 in cash. Usually these geniuses will call back and want to know why they didn't win. I tell them if you read the rules on the website, we're not responsible for acts of God related to the phone line.

It's my show. Right here, right now I'm God. And your little joke just cost you. Moron.

Don't get me wrong. A majority of the people I speak to daily are intelligent, coherent and a pleasure to talk to.

It's the few, the inane, the ridiculous who ruin it for everyone else.

And especially for me.