Category Archives: Humor

Fayetteville, Humor, Personal, Product Review

Shower(ed) With Gifts

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There’s something in the air this week with my apartment. And not just meth fumes and strange candles. I got a new shower curtain earlier in the week. Today, a custom pillowcase arrived. Also, a couple of photo magnets that I put on the inside of the metal front door. The pillowcase is similar to my curtain except with more pictures.

Not to be outdone by the fiercely competitive Jessica, Erika bought me a showerhead as a gift. The one installed in this apartment was installed in ’79. 1979, I hope. I can’t be sure. It may have had bloodstains or demonic etchings on it. Erika suffered the same indignity when she moved into this building thirty-two years ago. Everything was original and not in the excellent way that home-buying shows use the word. The National Historical Society almost decreed we couldn’t change out any of the fixtures due to their historical significance. George Washington may well have showered using those same showerheads.

The showerhead is an AquaDance, “…for the ultimate shower experience.” It sounds iffy, doesn’t it? First, there’s implied dancing on a slippery surface, an activity strongly discouraged by the AARP. Second, the word “ultimate” literally means “last.” I hope it is contradictory yet flowery marketing at work here.

Erika swears that this two-head detachable piece of bling is the best out there for the money. She even printed out instructions written by someone who wanted everyone to have the best installation experience possible. It’s apparent that she’s aware of my propensity toward imbecility. I don’t fault her for it.

Given my track record, I will attempt to be cautious when installing it. I’d rather not be the inspiration for the “Final Destination” reboot. Living in this apartment complex already has me a little bit worried. At any rate, once my neighbors realize that I am using my move as the basis for a lot of snark and satire, they may well acquire pitchforks and march over here.

In some ways, I’m going to miss taking spartan showers. I’ve always loved cool or cold showers, and doubly so when the equipment is impossible to use safely. The water heater and the shower installed as I found it when I moved here assist greatly in realizing these goals.

This new showerhead may well spoil me. Soon enough, I’ll be eating shaved cheese and sporting a goatee. The current showerhead I’m using shoots water randomly, almost maliciously. I’m going to miss it, as it reminds me of my mom’s parenting style.

Anyway, thank you, Erika. I suspect you may have bought this for me so that you and the other neighbors won’t hear so much screaming when I try to use the shower as intended.

I’ll be Aquadancing in luxurious comfort and style.

Also, this might be the most valuable thing in my apartment.

It’s a good thing I have renter’s insurance.

I love joking at the expense of this apartment complex. Anyone reading my stories knows that there are a lot of advantages to living here. No amenities, just advantages.

That’s an excellent metaphor for a simple life. I don’t need much, especially if I remember that almost everything essential to happiness is invisible. I live in my head, not in this place. I’m grateful for both. Nothing is certain.

Love, X

Gift, Humor, Personal

You Can’t Candle The Truth

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My friend and co-conspirator Jessica bought me an apartment-warming candle as a gift. Technically, if you lit and forgot about it, it would definitely warm the entire building, one way or another.

There’s a lot of subtext here:
Do I smell and need a fancy candle?
Do I have a lot of friends who’d do meth?
At someone else’s house?
If so, would they interpret the rule to mean anywhere but the bathroom?
Does this apartment send the message that meth might be considered an option here?
Is that Walter White’s doppelganger living in #15?

Notes:
The candle does NOT smell like meth.
I’ve smelled meth, both cooking and consumed.
No, I’ve never done meth. Or math.
The jar indicates “50 hour burn,” which is exactly what __________________.
(I left the joke blank because it is amusing, snarky, and suggestive.)
Cassis is not a berry, as many would suppose; it’s toejam.

Quote: “You can’t candle the truth!”

PS: This post isn’t 100% accurate.

Thanks for the surprise!

Fayetteville, Humor, Safety

Apple Pie Electrocution

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This looks like a dessert – possibly apple pie.

It’s not. It is the housing for one of two kitchen lights. Both of them were hideous. And, as it turns out, were also a hazard, more so than I am doing minor electrical work. I’m very careful. I haven’t shocked myself electrically in a while. The last time reminded me that I am mortal.

I have an older apartment. When I moved in, I discovered that the disposal didn’t work. Tracing the wiring, I discovered it was the switch. Luckily, I decided to fight the stripped wiring and replace the receptacle, as the ground wire wasn’t connected to anything. Water and electricity combined cause a whole lot of stories to be written, usually under the “Obituary” heading. (Which explains why my combination Coffee Pot/Toaster For The Bathroom idea was rejected.)

I bought modern low-profile lights, when left at a certain setting, remind me of Close Encounters Of The Third Kind -except without the mashed potatoes. When I took off the original light, the housing was burned and the connectors turned to ash when I pulled at them. Needless to say, this is NOT what one hopes to find inside wiring boxes.

Because I’m making permanent improvements to my apartment, I unfortunately had to choose “Practical & Stylish.” I wanted “Fabulous & Ridiculous.” I hate that I can’t paint the walls like I’m on an acid trip. My neighbor keeps admonishing me to dial it down, take a step back, and to NOT do anything crazy. It’s like she knows me well or something. A good example of this is that I watched a paintball episode of “Community” and thought, “Man, now that would be a great way to paint a room!”

I bought an array of switches and plugs when I moved here. I’ve replaced a few. It’s a hard fight, given that the builders didn’t leave much extra wiring sheath to work with. For anything I want to keep from being fried, I installed surgery protectors on top. These older buildings tend to experience more power surges than __________. (I left that blank because the joke I wrote there, while amusing, was NSFW.)

I’ve only used my dishwasher three times. All three times were to scald the heat and air vent covers after I scraped them. I’m not saying they are antiques, but the serial number for the first one was just “1.” I experimented with paint until I got it right. (Which means I did it REALLY wrong three times before I stopped being a dumbass.) I painted them whitish, too, even though I have 13 different colors here I would have rather used.

I don’t mind fixing things here. It’s just a place. I can sit at the front window on mornings like this, my hair full of dust and fiber from doing electrical work, and watch the expanse of sky above the trees, the crows warring over imaginary territories, and my weird neighbor with the forest on the balcony. I miss my cat Guino and still sometimes turn to look for him at the foot of the bed or next to me. I do hear traffic a lot. But right now, I hear the wind bending the trees and the birds telling each other secrets.

I suppose I need to get up and paint something else.

I think the whole world needs to be painted.

PS I listened to the voices of reason and bought renter’s insurance immediately. After seeing the wiring, I’m more confident than ever how smart that decision was. It will also come in handy next year when I use the bedrooms to start my Build-Fireworks-At-Home kits.
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Customer Service, Finances, Humor, Opinion, Personal, Social Rules, Walmart

It’s Safer To Get Killed In Traffic (Subtitle: Don’t Use Off-Brand ATMs, Even At The World’s Largest Retailer)

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I get zinged for my love and use of index cards. They are both practical and whimsical. I can take notes, make card houses, and draw. I can also use them to quickly leave notes everywhere, sometimes to the disgruntlement of almost the entire planet.

Due to momentary insanity, I opted to use the ATM at Walmart. The fee was low – and so was enthusiasm for driving across traffic to my bank. I knew better but did it anyway. Some people define that as wisdom.

I watched as the machine scrolled through the prompts, indicated it was dispensing money, and then the red light near the bill dispenser flashed. Uh-oh. I took out my phone to record, despite the Fort-Knox number of cameras in the register area. If you didn’t know this secret, Walmart and most stores experience sudden camera failure when YOU need them. A UFO could fly across your head and they’d just shrug. The machine gave me a card, a receipt, followed by zero money. The receipt indicated I’d been had. I meant charged.

It was at that point I realized I had not, in fact, recorded anything. Murphy’s law was somewhere behind me, watching with an evil grin.

I flagged one of the six managerial types standing in the dead limbo zone between the self-checkout kiosks and freedom. You’ve seen them. They evidently don’t do checkout anymore – they instead employ people to leer at us while we do it for them and then act invisible when our kiosk needs attention. He ambled over. “Oh, we don’t own that machine.” (Which turns out isn’t true. They do. They rent the space to the company on the face of the ATM.) He then said the strangest thing: “Yes, it’s been broken for at least a couple of days.” I looked at him with a mixture of incredulity and confused mirth. “Uh, you think an ‘Out of Order’ sign might be needed here? If that’s the case, you are needlessly stressing your customers,” I said, trying to be patient and calm.

We traded comments, me for fascinating information to use later, and he, because he read the wrong side of the customer service training cards when he was hired.

I called the number on the ATM. It went as well as you’d think. Yes, they knew it was broken and likely out of cash, the woman allegedly doing customer service told me. Yes, multiple people had angrily called. “Can you take my information? I’ve had this happen before and I got screwed worse than ________.” You’ll have to insert a colorful analogy there. It was very funny but risque. I could tell immediately that the person on the phone was as interested in helping me as someone who wants to push someone else down the stairs so they’ll get to the bottom faster.
No, she wouldn’t take my information. In her case, she learned her company’s motto: “We’re not satisfied until you’re not satisfied.” I asked about the camera in the front of the ATM, having been through this scenario previously. “Oh, there isn’t one,” she said. She told me that Walmart or corporate owns the machine and her company rents the space. “Who owns the accountability?” I asked. Insert “blah, blah, blah” here. She told me that no one was coming to service or fill the machine – nor to put an “Out of Order” placard on it. Walmart employees wouldn’t do it either, because “it was their job or their machine.”

Before hanging up, I informed the woman on the phone that I was trying to take out $300 for both groceries and meth. That’s how I confirmed she was the most humorless person in the world. I told her I loved her and that I wanted her to have a good weekend. Plot twist: she hung up.

I will admit that because I carry permanent markers, I ALMOST wrote directly on the face of the ATM monitor. I had to really control myself. Instead, I wrote on several index cards and put them everywhere. There ended up being one inside the money dispenser that you can’t see in the picture. You’d be surprised at how often I use my stash of index cards to let everyone else know that something is broken, their tire is low, or that their face reminds me why I don’t ever want to be in a Turkish prison.

As I was leaving, two people were at the Money Center complaining that the ATM was broken.

At least a kind soul took the time to let everyone know the ATM was potentially robbing customers.

Wait! I’m that person! 🙂

But did I die?

No.

So help me, if my money isn’t put back into the account, I am going to be really irritable. I’m not going to do as I did years ago and rant and fight either the ATM company or Walmart. That just wastes my life. No, I’m going to squirt super glue into the card slot every time I go in there. Extreme? Yes. But you only say that it’s extreme because you’ve never had a bank or ATM ‘take’ $400 of your money (twice) and then say it was you who screwed up. By the way, thanks Arvest for the valuable lesson a few years ago. They weren’t wrong: I had screwed up by staying with them after the first mistake.

It’s Friday and if I don’t get my meth, I don’t know how I’m going to watch Masterpiece Theatre.

PS I don’t use meth. That’s just crazy talk. Heroin is cheaper.

Love, X

Eats, Food, Humor, Opinion, Personal, Social Rules, Uncategorized

Cigars and Sashimi

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I got accused outright of having a sheltered life earlier in the week.

The accuser wasn’t wrong. I thought quite a bit about it, and to sit and steep myself in the allegation. I indicted myself in agreement with the conclusion.

To be clear, I have witnessed some sh!t in my time. All of us have in varying amounts. Most of our lives probably overlapped a great deal. Thankfully, not everyone had a wild ride of it and each of us disparately experienced what I would label as “fringe” events.

But there’s a lot I don’t know. Obviously. My spell checker reminds me every day, as do my co-workers, neighbors, ex-wife, and even the mailman drops by every couple of days to shake his head in bewilderment at me.

Even at 54, I’m still finding out that there are worlds within worlds all around me. Words, foods, drinks, ideas, a cauldron of ceaseless wonder.

When you don’t eat sushi, for example, the barrage of specific vocabulary one must learn to order it for someone else becomes overwhelming, like signing up for Beginner’s Spanish only to later realize that it was in fact “Belgian Spanish.” I have no problem insisting that I’m ignorant and therefore need guidance. Otherwise, people will be eating a can of tuna and crackers. I won’t even get started on how they price the stuff. The sushi, not the canned tuna.

Food and flavor are 100% opinion.

NO, I don’t care what the various kinds of sushi, sashimi and blah, blah, blah are actually supposed to be called. That you like it is all that matters. I don’t have to like it. I like it that YOU like it. That’s pretty much how all of us should respond to friends and family when they love the stuff we wouldn’t eat if the human race depended on it. I know for a fact that some of the stuff I eat would make Bill puke until next Tuesday. Sorry, Bill. It’s true. Besides, you’re definitely not busy next Tuesday anyway. Yes, I read your calendar, the one by the fridge.

But the prices? I know for a fact that in a dark basement, probably in New Jersey, there’s a really big man who spins a wheel and randomly determines the definitions for both ‘quality’ and ‘price’ of sushi. The worse it looks, the more it costs. (Note: it’s a shame that isn’t actually true for a lot of things, right?)

For those who aren’t around smokers, there are twenty-two million kinds of tobacco and specialty products available now. I remember in the early 70s when you could easily memorize the main twenty or so tobacco products. Now the racks look like Heidi Klum’s makeup room. There are so many adjectives you need to know to ask for the right thing that I feel like I need a thesaurus when I’m around it. Things that look cheap are obnoxiously expensive. Things that look expensive… well, they are expensive too.

The point of this is to forcefully point out that I am very ignorant about more things than you’d realize. I am very knowledgeable about a lot of things, too. But it is a lot of work hiding my ignorance – not that I make much of an effort. I’d need a big box for that.

Because I’m rejuvenated, I’m going to share another vow with you, exactly like the one that allowed me to lose all this weight…

I am going to say, “I don’t know” a lot more often.

I am going to say, “You probably need to show me this again, for the fifth time, unless you’d like a disaster.”

And if you need me to go buy good seafood, lord help you until my ignorance abates.

I’ve always been quite ignorant. You just might not have realized how much. I’m here to help you with that misunderstanding.

Meanwhile, be yourself. Smile, laugh, and growl sometimes if that is what is needed. Eat the foods you love even if your mom vomits, and let everyone eat the foods they love. Take that same acceptance and throw it into all the other areas of life where we encroach needlessly on people’s ability to live freely.

P.S. I have not been drinking. But I am going to have a bit of vodka and homemade sweet and sour.

And those index cards on the floor leading the rocking chair were part of an elaborate ruse that I couldn’t execute today. I have optimism for tomorrow. You’ll note the rocking chair is in front of an open door, leading to a balcony and a whole new world.

Love, X
Amen

Exercise, Humor, Personal, Psychology, Social Rules

Look Up, And To The Left

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I have a lot of fun with chalk, odd messages, and tomfoolery.

There are times when I learn unexpected things from doing such frivolity.

This morning, early, I went outside and wrote “Look up, and to the left” in chalk on the dock concrete. In fact, there wasn’t anything noteworthy, neither ‘up’ nor ‘to the left.’ Having said that, there easily might have been. I sometimes go to strange lengths to get an inside joke off the ground. I’ve been known to climb walls, trees, parking garages, and just about anything to pull off something interesting – even if no one ever sees it. I’d estimate a good 75% of them aren’t found for a long time, or at all. A good example? Years ago, I put a laminated note on the underside of a table at Las Margaritas, with my email address on it, indicating I’d pay whoever found it and contacted me $50. I pulled it off myself almost seven years later – though the table had been moved to another spot.

I observed several people approach the chalk, read the message, and then look up. Several of them looked up and to the right. (We all have directionally challenged people in our lives.) A few lingered, their eyes searching the upper part of the dock canopy. A few others read the message and kept walking without looking up. It was entertaining, and I figured many of them hadn’t ever looked up above them in that spot.

It’s those who didn’t look up that give me pause.

Were they in a hurry? Not curious? If I think about those people too long, I draw unfair conclusions. Who wouldn’t want a surprise, even a potentially stupid one, early in the workday? Something new, something interesting.

The other observation, one long known to me, is that most people will read almost anything written in chalk if they come across it. You can use that generalization in marketing, psychology, and tomfoolery.

Anyway, I hope you are the “look up, and to the left” kind of person instead of the “not interested” type.

You never know what might be lurking on the fringes.

A great deal of the world is hidden in plain sight up.

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PS I had picked today as a random day to break my single-day pushup record. Once I started, I regretted the decision. After a couple of hours, I decided to double down and beat my record by noon. I crossed the record with time to spare. Each time I surpass my last mark, I seriously wonder if there is an upper limit and if most of my problems and obstacles are about as accurate as the limit I imagine – until I beat it.

Now, I wonder if the fumes from today’s painting are making me see the giraffe outside. This is a weird apartment simplex, after all.

Humor, Personal, Uncategorized

On Target… AT Target

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I went to Target for a microwave. I picked a really bad day to wear my orange-red shirt. No exaggeration: I helped at least a dozen people find things. The highlight of this visit was when a Target employee asked me where they kept the little portable Ottomans for the college students.

PS I did not get an employee discount for the microwave.

DIY, Humor, Personal, Project, Social Rules

Today Only

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Someone is back at arts and crafts today. Y’all will be happy to know I haven’t significantly injured myself today. I did get my feelings hurt earlier but it wasn’t billable for Blue Cross, so it doesn’t count. Yesterday’s project with the window panel miraculously fit perfectly where it was supposed to. It was spa blue, similar to my car. As I put it in the window, I realized I’d probably always remember breaking a drillbit off on my shinbone while making that board.

These boards are for an old desk. I’d removed the raw wood top off it weeks ago, as it wouldn’t fit through a standard door. Because I’m dedicated to adding color (and more color) to things, I opted for a deep blue. It’s going to stand out like a streetwalker at Sunday lunch once the boards are on the desk. I’d like y’all to know that by the time I put these boards on the desk, I could have bought another desk for the same money. It’s not about the money. It’s about the likely brain damage I suffered as a child. (Insert confused laugh pause here.)

You can also see that I wisely have been painting and sawing (mostly) outside. It seemed prudent, given my approach to painting. It’s kind of like performance art. Residents and passersby alike tend to watch me while I’m out there. I’ve decided one of these days I’m going to go out there shirtless (and/or pantsless?) and just start spraying MYSELF. The lease does prohibit vehicle maintenance but shockingly omits spray painting oneself. Or self-immolation for that matter. I probably should do the landlord a favor and make a running list of things that occurred to me to do but aren’t forbidden.
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PS No matter where you are, take a moment and think of your friends and family and who might need a word of comfort. Reach out and listen. I was reminded yesterday that what we see is no gauge of how someone is really doing. And the smart creative ones are often undetectable in their protective bubbles. It breaks my heart to know that people are in so much pain. I write a lot of nonsense but the other half of me is zeroed into the holes I have – and those I see in others.

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“My mom cursed so much that the Navy paid her to train the recruits how to do it properly.” – X
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I often pause when I read the phrase “SERIOUS INJURY,” as if there is an alternate and opposite “COMEDIC INJURY.” (For the person suffering I mean – we all find humor in watching someone else get hit with an anvil.)
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I don’t know the attribution, but someone sent me this, saying it sounded like something I had written on my blog: “Discipline is cheap compared to how expensive regret can be.”
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I hope you’re happy, wherever you are. And if not, that you run outside right now and laugh at the sky.
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Look up, not down.

DIY, Humor, Personal, Project

I Got Drill Bit

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While doing a carpentry/paint project this afternoon, I took great caution to be careful. Or so I thought. I might as well have been binge drinking. Also, because of the limited number of outlets in the building, I used the lowest and closest one for the drill. To avoid splitting the wood, I drilled pilot holes in the main piece of board. When I unplugged the drill, it slipped out of my hand. The drill miraculously swung and hit my shinbone. More surprisingly, the narrow drillbit hit me in the same spot. It cut into me and then the bit snapped in half as it struck my leg. I looked down at the broken bit with a look of absolute stupidity and incredulity. Blood began to run from my leg like it would from a novice vampire’s mouth. Needless to say, it blossomed with a sharp, cutting pain, one similar to the one I felt when I helped several Latinos register to vote, only to find to my horror they voted conservative.

Additional safety notes: I live upstairs, giving me the opportunity to discover gravity unexpectedly each time I run up them. For the record, I love stairs. Next time, I’m going to paint indoors. I can’t imagine the fumes will cause any consequences – at least none that hurt worse than using my shinbone to snap a metal drillbit in half.

I’ll keep you posted.

My lease didn’t say anything about screaming like a little girl in the middle of the afternoon.
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Fayetteville, Humor, Personal

My UnBeautiful Laundrette

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After decades of not having to do laundry like a barbarian, I’m living at an apartment complex that has a laundry room. (I hesitate to call it a ‘complex,’ though; it’s more akin to a ‘simplex.’)

For fans of horror, you’d love the laundry room here. It’s not a place you’d want to be if the lights suddenly and unexpectedly began to flicker. Even the bugs have little bitty locks on their hiding places down there. I’m tempted to put a little speaker and transmitter in so that I can pipe maniacal laughter in there and then film people running out of there like they got trapped in a Republican budget meeting. If I were to drive up and see a film crew nearby, I would assume they’re scouting potential locations for the next installment of “A Nightmare On Elm Street,” with a particular interest in my apartment’s laundry room.

A few minutes ago, I went to move my clothes from the washer to the dryer. Exiting the room, I found myself toe-to-toe, so to speak, with a very large spider. Keep in mind that I’m not afraid of spiders. This one, however, was large and had a discernible attitude. I say that only because it seemed to have a knife, as well as several tattoos.

Also, I propose that we immediately start using the phrase “clothes yoga” instead of “folding clothes.”

I’d write a bit more, but I’m working on this story about a haunted laundry room.
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P.S. As people keep saying, the internet is where you find out who has a sense of humor. Likewise, I tend to employ a bit of hyperbole in what I write. It doesn’t negate the nuggets of truth I incorporate honestly in my stories and anecdotes. Nor does it mean that things are devoid of positivity or advantages. If you read things I write with an active asshole filter, some things will indubitably cross your wires. Also, this laundry room does not spark joy. If it ever gets remodeled, I do hope they use CSI as the new theme. (If only to save money on needless extra touches…)