Feeling of Gratification

I was cleaning out OLD emails and I came across this one I sent out many years back. 12/31/03 to be exact. I used to use my company email as a forum to the outside world until I found Blogger. So now that I am here I share this tidbit with you all.


From: Joshua Faseler
Sent: Wednesday, December 31, 2003 1:09 PM
Subject: Feeling of Gratification

Today has come to be known as a day that I realized my worth as a Transactions Analyst at Orix Capital Markets (OCM). You see today started out as another dead day before a major holiday that is filled with much anxiety of future parties to come and void of much meaningful work. It wasn't until around 12:05 today, as I was finishing the last couple of bites from the leftover spaghetti that I ate last night and the previous night before that, when our company mail man (Richard), officially known as an "Office Service Assistant" according to our company directory, delivered a small box to me that my feeling of worth hit me. Curious to see what was in the box I quickly opened it and to my surprise was about 500 or so BEAUTIFUL, clean and crisp business cards. I ask myself, "What have I done to deserve such a treat?" The answer still eludes me, but I do know that I have entered into a circle that only a select few enter into in a lifetime. I am officially a CompanyBusinessCardHolder. Otherwise known using the acronym CBCH.

It didn't take me long to compare this experience to something that happened to me way back in the year 2001. I was 21 at the time and I set out to buy a new truck, which is a pretty awesome ride as some may know, but lets not get off track here. After making the biggest purchase of my lifetime, my salesman walked me outside to my newly washed cruiser, handed me the keys, and said "Thank You"............ for his commission. I was so excited! Right before I was about to drive off in my very first new car I see my salesman (picture a slightly overweight car salesman wearing a not so well ironed white shirt smoking a cigarette) running towards my window. What did he have in his hand not including the 3/4 burned cigarette soon to be flicked by one of my shinny new tires? A brand new baseball cap smelling of Doral Lights. He hands it to me and says thank you again as I drive off. Wow, I spend $25K and I get a cap! If that isn't the deal of all deals! Plus how many college kids do you see wearing a Shamrock Chevrolet cap in the bar? I would venture to say not very many other than me. Again I am getting off track. FOCUS! I could picture my salesman walking back into the dealership after handing me my keys, meeting his manager asking him why he didn't give me a cap. Like they felt obligated to give me something in return for my $25K check.

This brings me all the way back to my original story. Did OCM feel obligated to give me business cards for my hard work and efforts to bring profit to the company? Well I like to think so for I know I am a major asset to this establishment, and small though it may be, I am important enough to erroneously pass out business cards with my company name on them to random people I meet.

I leave you with these thoughts and to the newcomers on my mailing list I leave them with thoughts of my saneness. Good Day!

Josh

.2 times 40 equals 25

Have you ever gone to a bar, had a blast, drank too much, took the party elsewhere, woke up the next morn…..afternoon, drove to Wendy’s for some nourishment, pulled out your wallet to pay, only to find out that you had left your tab open at the bar and are missing your credit card? Well I have too. Last Friday. This is a bad thing right? Well, not necessarily.

On the other hand, have you ever been partying at a bar where the wait staff purposefully over-serves you………..…..all night…..and when it comes time to close out your tab you close it out, only to wake up the next morning to find out that you left a ridiculous $25 tip on a $40 tab? Well I have too. Last Saturday.

In a rare moment of clarity jammed somewhere in the middle of an otherwise constant state of haze, I came to the realization that the best thing to do to get through the night with a cheap bar tip is to simply leave your card at the bar overnight. From what I understand with my conversations with the friendly “morning” staff at the bar, is that all tabs have to be closed at the end of each night to close out the books. Of course they are going to feel obligated to leave themselves a tip, but they (whether by law or standard practice) can only charge an extra 15% gratuity. That’s right! Say goodbye to those 65% tips. No more having to do math in your head, or even worse on your fingers (like me) while drunk at the bar. Just simply go home, wake up, go back to the bar on your way to Wendy’s and sign your name to get your card back. It’s really quite simple and genius if I may say so myself.

Taking it a step further, if you have more than one card, just leave one at the bar each night and round-up all the plastic at one time on Sunday.

And don’t worry about feeling silly by doing this because obviously a plethora of other people do the exact same thing judging by the stack of about 20 cards the lady at the bar had to sift through to get to mine.

~Fas

Ohh and as an update to my "Collegiate Beggars" post, I finally received my $10 refund check from a 1998 deposit I made at Tech. No word yet on the extra $8.51 in interest I demanded.

Thanksgiving - A Time for Giving Thanks

Have you ever woken up and just felt rundown? Well I have too, but mine was more in a literal sense.

It was the Thanksgiving holiday season. The day was Wednesday and I was riding home with a fellow Hondo friend to meet up with the family and hopefully get in a little partying with the old high school buds. On the outskirts of San Antonio I decide to call up my buddy Craig who works in San Antonio to find out the scoop of what I can expect as far as parties go while I’m down. He quickly informs me that a big crew of guys were going to Cowboys in SA to watch Cross Canadian in concert. Hells yeah! I’m down!

I get home around 6:30 and reluctantly tell my parents, whom I haven’t seen since Sept 1, that I will be leaving in an hour to drive back to SA for the concert. My mom whips up a quick meal as if sending me off school and the next thing I know we’re on our way to the concert.

Once we get there, we quickly find out that there are about 123 thousand people there, of which, 80% were girls way younger than me wearing short skirts, cowboy boots and awfully perty tank tops. Discrimination holds this country back so I don’t age discriminate. Things were good and the girls thought I was 20. We commence to party like animals and take shots like a group of alcoholics at communion. The night is good, but 2 AM rolls around and it’s time for the drunks to go.

I’m supposed to be riding with Craig home, but in a brief moment of clarity on an otherwise hazy night, I just know that Craig is way too drunk to drive the 40 miles back to Hondo. So I decide to drive.

Happily leaving the bar with my healthy $85 bar tab and Craig, not to be outdone, with his portly $200 bar tab, we start walking back to the truck. Now bear in mind, two drunks laughing, joking and generally making asses of themselves are walking the truck, which is parked on the side of the road next to the curb because the parking lot was full when we got there. Craig and I are walking, sometimes skipping, when all the sudden some slappass guy with his girlfriend are walking behind us…….with him making fun of our drunken ways and general light-weightedness. (The words pu$$y, yerafag and drunk motherfockers were overheard) I guess the guy was trying to impress his rather attractive girlfriend by mocking two drunkards walking in front of him. I’m sure we were good material.

Now this would have set Craig off in about a nanosecond but $200 of liquor tends to make one rather oblivious to outside distractions, but $85 of liquor doesn’t. I take note of his ways and remind myself that I hung up fighting back in college as the crappy real world of responsibility forced itself upon me. Damn things you get as tradeoffs for money.

We continue on our way with the jackass still behind us trying to impress his girl. No worries, right? Wellllll it just so happens ole jackass is parked directly behind us on the street. It’s funny how things fall right into place.

After trying to find the right key to a truck that is exactly like mine, I finally get it right and we begin to get in the truck. BUT DAMN! Jackass has to get in one last comment before the night ends. I guess his comments were working for his audience and she was quite impressed. I look over to Craig and say, “Hey Craig, what do you say we teach this guy a lesson?” To which he replies, “Lets do it!” So we walk back to his 4-runner, Explorer, S10 Jimmy (I dunno) and politely ask the guy to get out the truck so we can throw down, you know, since he had been talking shit for the past 5-10 minutes. Probably noticing that he was outnumbered by an $85 and $200 tab, he decided to stay in the truck with the window down all the while still talking shit.

Now anyone who has ever been in a fight just has to know that sitting in a car with the window down is the absolute worst place to be if you plan on defending yourself. I ask him again to get out, but no. SNAP! So through the window goes a surprisingly accurate right jab to the side of his eye. He quickly opens the door, not to get out, but to be in a better postion to talk more shit. Nothing I like better than proving to a girl that her shit talking boyfriend is just that, all talk.

Verbal barrages go on for a few more minutes when Craig wisely says we need to go. I still don’t know if he was bored with my antics or had to go to the bathroom. He walks back to the passenger side of his truck. I am a few feet behind him when I hear tires squeal.

Turning around as if I saw a pair of cowboy boots I just had to have, “Ohh shit!” I say to myself, or out loud, I can’t remember as this jackass is speeding toward me. This motherfucker is going to run me over. Good for me my tab wasn’t $200 or I might not have had the reflexes to attempt to jump out of the way. I manage to get out from directly in from of his truck, but I wasn’t fast enough. I get smoked by the corner (like where the headlights are) of his ride, throwing me a clean 5-10 feet in the air and promptly back down to earth/asphalt.

Now if you ever get hit by a car, plan on blacking out for a few seconds. Next thing I know, I’m pulling myself to my feet and I’m joining Craig who is attempting to chase this guy down in a futile attempt to drag him out of his truck and put him in the hospital.

We both run about 20 feet, get cramps in our sides and decide to go back to Craig’s truck. By this time the guy is long gone. There was no way we could have caught up with him. It is only now I realize I’m in some pain. I do a quick joint/broken limb checklist, check for blood, which was minimal, pick my broken watch off the street and jump into the truck for the drive home. Helluva end to a night, I tell you what!

This leads me back to the next morning and the moral of the story, Thanksgiving. I could not be more thankful to come away from this incident walking. If I would have gone under the tires it would have been a totally different story and I may have had to type this blog with a straw in my mouth.

So what did I get from this confrontation with a truck: 1. Two scrapped, very bruised and very sore elbows 2. One left knee the same 3. One slightly twisted right ankle 4. One severely jacked up right wrist (this has to be the worst of all. Guys, imagine losing all ability to effectively use your right hand and wrist……..….its painfull when you are in a position to use it as much as myself……….…to shake hands…......c'mon get your minds out of the gutter) and the final thing I walked away with was 5. One awesome story and a weekend of infamy from everyone else in Hondo. Life is grand.

Please don’t try this at home. I am a well trained drinker and generally in great shape, which allows me to get hit by cars and quickly bounce back to normal life.

Labor Day Vacation

Here are a few pics from my Labor Day vacation back home.

Someone said the limit was 12 a day. If 12 is the limit, 60 is always better right?













I hate to admit it, but my buddy Beener is a better shot than me and I hate him because of it.












My little partner in crime, my nephew Garrett.
















The next day at my buddy Craig's house with some of his friends he dragged into town for the hunt. This is a post hunt pic. All of them were Aggies but a funny crew I must say. All could shoot better than me too.













Good action shots from earlier that same day. I was trying to catch flies at one point. The dog, Duke, was damn good. He saw the birds many times before we did. Could have been because we were'nt sober most of the time. The Hondo way.























For those who have no clue, they were picking cotton at one of our fields over the weekend.























Dumping a load into a module builder where they pack it into modules of cotton.













Hope everyone enjoyed the pics. More to come in the future.

Temporary Delay in Blogging

I apologize for the lack of Ramblings lately. My team at work has been experiencing massive turnover and the workload for everyone remaining has essentially doubled/tripled. Being the smart[ass] person that I am, I was forced to do the lone thing any other logical person in my situation would do..................leave the team too.

I have been promoted to a new department within the company and I will probably be out of commission for a while until the learning curve is.............well less curved. Until that time, don't delete the link to this blog out of frustration, anger or spite. I shall return soon enough; albeit, only a miniscule amount richer.

The Gentleman

I had to work a late one today. Burn the midnight oil if you will. Well when I finally wrapped up what I needed to finish, I left for the DART station. It was about 5:15 pm.

For those of you not in the know about the Dallas light rail system, it’s an electric train known locally under the acronym DART (Dallas Area Rapid Transport) and it runs from Plano and Garland through Downtown Dallas to South Dallas.

I ride the DART everyday going to and fro from home to Downtown Dallas. Luckily, my ride is unusually short, only 3 stops or about 15-20 minutes. Many people ride it for over an hour each way. One very common thing about the DART is that few people, including myself, actually get to sit down while riding the DART. It’s due to the lack of seating and the limited number of individual train cars DART chooses to drag around each day. I think DART would rather pack people in like sardines than have everyone relatively comfortable sitting on a stainless steel seat.

From the roughly 1000 DART rides I’ve had in the nearly 3 years of living in Dallas, I’ve probably only actually sat down about 50 times total. So today when I had the rare opportunity to sit, I hurriedly snatched up a seat, knocking over a toddler on the way. (kidding) So finally I get to sit down and rest my tired legs since I’ve been sitting all day and I start my 3-stop ride home.

Sitting to my right is a 40-something year old lady. In my rush to sit down I accidentally kick her backpack (rucksack if anyone from England is reading this). I probably wouldn’t have even known that I had kicked her bag but a backpack full of cassette tapes makes a distinct sound when bumped. By the way, people still listen to tapes? In any event, I apologized to her and she says not to worry.

By this time we’re already arriving at my first stop. The doors open and a lady and a guy get on. Immediately a tall, relatively weird looking guy sitting across from me gets up and offers his seat to the lady. She kindly refuses because I think she would rather stand and talk with her man friend. The tall guy then sits back down.

If you’ve ridden the DART nearly 1000 times and are an avid people watcher like I am, people start to look familiar and you seemingly get to know them, without actually knowing them, and get to know their mannerisms and such. This particular lady and guy are both single, at least they don’t wear wedding rings, but they always meet at the same stop and they giggle and laugh at each other until I get off at my stop. A downtown affair? I don’t know. Possibly……….

Sorry, well the train starts to move down the track again, and suddenly the 40-something lady taps my knee and says, “Ahh, that was so nice of him. He is SUCH a gentleman. It’s rare that men do that these days.” She was referring to the tall guy that offered his seat to the lady. I gave her a kind, half-ass smile, nodded my head and turn away from her. Of course she said it loud enough for the tall guy to hear and an ooold lady sitting across the isle from me to hear as well. After hearing the compliment, I looked over and noticed the tall guy grinning. Now the 40-something lady and ooold lady proceed to chat about how men like this are rare these days and this and that. Remember, I’m sitting kinda between these ladies. Meanwhile, the tall guy is listening to their conversation the whole time and continues to grin this goofy grin like a kid eating ice cream or something. Here I am stuck in the middle of this trifecta with two ladies talking smack about men and a guy eating up his newfound attention.

But wait, something just occurred to me. Was this 40-something dogging me for not offering my seat to the lady? Surely not. I mean, the guy got up so fast I didn’t have a chance to. Ohh well, I chalk it up as another random situation on the DART.

Well a few minutes later we come to stop number 2. We stop and the doors open again. This time 3 ladies and a guy get on. The tall guy, wanting more ice cream, immediately gets up again and offers his seat to a lady, who subsequently sits down without saying thank you or anything. (Man I hate that) Of course the 40-something is keen as to the tall guy’s actions and she taps me again (repeat: AGAIN) and says, “Such a gentleman don’t you think?” Once again she and the ooold lady agree the tall guy is a gentleman and the tall guy, still listening, is still grinning.

Now I could have gotten up and offered my seat to a lady that would have in turn been unappreciative, but it was too late. The damage had been done since stop # 1. If I would have gotten up, that 40-something lady would’ve won. No way! I had too much pride on the line. Plus, I was getting off at the next stop anyway. It’s not like I would be taking up that seat all the way to Plano.

Seriously, any other time, I would have gotten up like I’ve done many times before, but I wasn’t gonna do it this time. I was on a mission to spite this 40-something year old leg-tapping nuisance and prove to everyone else in the area that I should not be associated with Mr. Grins who was obviously addicted to the attention because he was still grinning after all this.

So today I wasn’t a good person. So what? Maybe it had something to do with me working late, but it was most likely due to the 40-something trying to tell me to do something without actually telling me to do it. She was trying to nudge me to act in a way in which she wanted me to act and I wasn’t playing her game.

Good Riddens.

Note: The 40-something must not have been from around here because Dallas men almost always wait at elevators for women to enter first, hold doors or give up seats.

How Come?

How come gum manufacturers can’t make a piece of gum that lasts longer than 20 minutes, but can successfully design a gum pack that self destructs as soon as you accidentally pull out one white wrapper that holds the gum and the foil wrapper in place?

How come the hair on your arms never grows past a certain length, while the hair on your head gets long and ratty after only a few weeks? (Maybe that’s only my hair)

How come you can work out for months to get to where you want to be, but can lose everything in a matter of weeks?

How come people bitch about gas prices at $2.20/ gal but go out and buy a Starbucks Vanilla Latte for $4.50/ 12 oz every day? (1 gal = 128 oz = $48/gal of coffee)

How come when someone boring is talking to you, you automatically know exactly when to nod your head or say “Yeah” even though your mind was somewhere else the entire time and you heard nothing they said?

How come they make super high resolution LCD monitors, but the high resolution causes the font and everything else to be so small it kills your eyes?

How come when an appetizer shows up everyone will fight to get the first chip, nacho or whatever, but no one will touch the last chip or nacho left on the plate?

How come employers only offer you more money when you tell them you're leaving?

How come you get charged fees that total 20% of a $20 withdrawal from an ATM? (A $2 ATM fee and Wells Fargo charges another $2 for using a non-Wells Fargo ATM – Getting access to the money you've earned is expensive these days)

How come people sitting at a red light suddenly think it's ok to pick their nose as much as they like?

How come on paydays salaried employees tear open the pay-stub envelope to see how much they’ve made that pay period?

How come my work computer quits working at 4:30 everyday?

Anyone Reading This Crap???

Just wondering if anyone other than my Sister, Courtney or the Anonymous Ass read my "Ramblings"? Not to discount my frequent contributors in any way. I just want to know who else is reading it.

Let's do a test. If you read my blog, click on the "Comments" link at the bottom of the blog post and just type anything for a comment. You can remain anonymous. I don't care. All I'm looking for is a headcount.

Thank you and please drive through..

***UPDATE***

Thanks for all the replies. Seven isn't too bad, actually more than I expected. I figure there are a few more who didn't respond just because I asked them to.

~More to come.

Collegiate Beggars

So the other day I get this postcard in the mail. It's from Texas Tech University. What do they want me to donate now, I ask myself? Much to my surprise the postcard notified me that the school still had a $10 property deposit on file for me from way back in the Spring of 1998 (When I enrolled). I don’t remember paying this deposit, nor do I know what sort of property I used of theirs that required a deposit. I’m sure it was just another deposit lumped together with the abundance of other fees they charge you at that school.

Well I was quite happy that they wanted to actually give me something back for going there. A rebate of sorts. But wait! I knew it was too good to be true. Tech is up to their scheming ways again. See, this refund was disguised under the veil of a clever marketing ploy. Instead of just refunding my money, they conveniently asked that I donate the $10 to the scholarship fund or I could be a cheapskate and ask for a refund. I wouldn’t mind donating if Tech hasn’t tried to hit me up once every quarter since I graduated to ask for donations.

Well I’m tired of Tech asking for all these handouts! I want my $10 back dammit! Just like I wanted it back the first time they sent me a post card back in 2002. I guess if you actually request a refund, they conveniently throw the postcard in the trash.

The funny thing is that this time I put the postcard in an envelope with a letter requesting my refund be paid with interest compounded at 8% annually from 1998 (8 years). The sad thing is, I probably calculated it wrong and everyone will get a kick out of my stupidity. The total came out to $18.51. I gave them the option of paying me back with interest or throwing my postcard away like they did the first time. To really make them mad, I used a Double T address label they had kindly given to me for free, only to later find out it was under the pretense of asking for another donation. Gimme a break. Do other schools beg for money like Tech? WTF?

I'll let everyone know if I get anything back.

Free Troop Ribbon Magnets

Hello everyone. I would like to let everyone know about a way to get one of those super expensive troop ribbon magnets that you see on everyone's cars for FREE. This offer is only for Dallas residents, but if you are willing to drive to Dallas you may also take part in this exclusive offer.

So far, only two people have taken advantage of this special offer but there undoubtedly will be more in the near future.

This is how the system works and exactly what you need to do to get your own free ribbon magnet: Find out where I live, park for work, or buy groceries. Wait patiently for me to get out of my truck and walk into the various establishment. As soon as I am inside, walk up to my truck and take the sticker off my tailgate. That's it! Easy as that!

I will buy another one and a few days later you can get another free ribbon. It's foolproof.

Good'aye!

Texas Tech Construction Pictures

Texas Tech has come a long way since I graduated in May of '02. This goes out to all my fellow Tech peeps that haven't had a chance to make it back in several years. If you are one of the ones who haven't visited the L.B.K. in recent years, you will be amazed at how things have changed. Sometimes it is hard to get your bearings because things have changed so much.

I can't wait for football season!

http://forum.dallasmetropolis.com/showthread.php?t=4211

Extension of Toilet Humor...

I recently read a blog post by a fellow blogger, Courtney. She brought up a topic that is funny because you don't think of these things seriously until afterwards when you think back.

Toilet humor is some of the best. I try to go as much as possible at work because I firmly feel that it is your right to get paid to go. (I kid, I kid)

Women are funny about using the restroom. Being a guy, all we really want to know is what yall do in a one-seater bathroom when two (three) of yall go at the same time? Truly a mystery every guy has tried to find out, only the answer was probably not as interesting as they had hoped. Still, we chalk it up as a lie and continue to think the best. Does one act as the bathroom attendant or guard while waiting their turn? Does one fold the paper towels nicely for the other? I dunno.

I’ll give the women who read this a little insight into a guy’s restroom world. When guys go, it’s usually a process much like shopping. Go in knowing what you want to do, do it, and get out. Normally you stand at the urinal, looking straight ahead. In a perfect world it would be this easy, but every once in a while you’ll get a chatterbox next to you. This person thinks they need to break the tension by conversation. Plus, these people normally think that they have to look at you when they talk. This is the one time that looking someone in the eye during conversation is not polite. Sort of odd and uncomfortable in the same way. Is asking, “Did you see that shot Tiger made at the Nelson?” really that important? I’m thinking these guys are the same guys who are horridly afraid of phone silence and feel the need to be the first to break the ice. For me, it’s normally quick yes or no answers and the occasional nod and that’s it. What’s worse is when they get going on a story and you finish. Then what are you supposed to do? Some feel obligated to stay and listen. Personally, I finish and leave in the middle of their story.

Of course sometimes you get the old man who is the grunter. I mean, what’s so tough about it? Maybe I need to get old to figure this one out.

And the guy who lets out the “Ahhhhhhhh....Hmmmm” I mean WTF? Bathrooms are not the place for moans and groans. No one wants to hear that. How distracting when you have a job to do.

The spitters are quite common too. These people think that they need to spit in the urinal before they go. I never have figured out what this does. Lubricate the plumbing? The dad’s who started passing that down the gene pool are morons.

What about the times that you’re in a stall and you begin to play games. It’s quite fun. You look at the shoes of the person next to you and try and guess who it is. This can turn into many hours of fun and enjoyment. Depending on which side the exit door is from your stall, if they have to walk in front of you, you try to glance through the crack in the stall door to see if your shoe predictions were right. And then once you figure it out, you laugh to yourself and say, man, that guy is nasty. I’m sure girls are like, those shoes are so cute! I'm going to ask her where she got them.

Another thing that cracks me up when you’re in the stall is the guy who you hear come in and shut a stall door, but it takes them 5 minutes of tearing TP for the nest that they need to build. How dainty of them to sit on a TP nest.

I Wish You Would Quit Lying to Myself

You ever get horribly drunk on a Friday and hurt like you’ve never hurt before that Saturday? You tell yourself this way of life will lead you to an early grave and promise yourself not to drink that much again. You go out on Saturday with these good intentions, accompanied by the trusty sixer of non-lite beer. (You normally drink lite but for heavens sake, it’s only a six-pack) This is a common means of restraint used by many people. Next thing you know, the sixer is gone and you’re off to the store to buy another case, in addition to that pack of smokes (ultra-lights because they’re healthier). Sunday rolls around and you hurt like you’ve never hurt before.
Telling yourself you’re only going to drink in moderation is like going to the grocery store and buying a basket full of vegetables. You take them home, put them in the crisper and throw the same rotted vegetables out two weeks later. Your intention when buying them was to eat them, but deep down the only reason you bought them was to make you feel good about yourself.

We're Taking Up a Collection......

It’s getting expensive to work these days. I’m very lucky to work on a team of 11 people and in any given year 11 people have birthdays, 2 relatives die, 1 baby is born, there is 1 engagement, 1 wedding and Christmas hits. If the team were all guys, an email would go out and it would be a zero payout year. But again, luck becomes me and I have two women as the team’s administrative assistants. Now we have Birthday Lunches, Birthday Cards, Christmas Gifts, Baby Shower Gifts, Wedding Shower Gifts, Wedding Gifts and the occasional bereavement gift of a donation to a charity in the deceased’s name. When did it change from working for money to paying to work? If it were up to me, I wouldn’t give one red cent. Instead, I'm guilt-tripped into donating to each respective fund. Even worse is that I find out after the fact that I've inadvertantly given more than the others. I didn't want to give in the first place, and then I end up giving more! What the fuck? I’ve given enough money toward others on my team to make a rent payment. If there is one good thing that can come from this, it's that free lunch once a year! Mmmm Bittersweet!

Who is This Team They Call the Spurs?

None other than the 2005 NBA Champions!!!!

Obi-Wan-Giiiinnoooobiliiiiiiiiii

Not to be confused with Balki from Perfect Strangers.

Lumpy

Well this is my premier, my blogging debut. My very own media outlet, my portal to the rest of the world. Watch out O’Reilly. I once used email to express my thoughts and bullshitedness. Well times have changed. Email is old and busted, blogging is the new hotness.

I thought for a long while about a story I should tell the world, or at least a few people who I call friends, who in turn refer to me as an acquaintance. It’s not a very good one in my opinion but I’ll have better things to write about later.

I find it funny how seemingly boring things tend to catch my attention. Yep, boring everyday life. In fact, I am quite close to this subject. It is not until you look at something that has happened to you and realize that it isn’t all that boring once you look into it a little deeper.

For instance, I set an appointment to get my hair cut this last Tuesday. Now you may ask yourself why a guy has to set an appointment at Super Cuts, Master Cuts, Cuts R Us or at the PETCO Grooming Station. Well you don’t. I on the other hand am blessed with a jacked up head. Laden with bumps and ridges that no other human would be able to comprehend. Electric clippers don’t cut it for me.

I’m not sure how I got this beautiful noggin. Being slapped upside the head by my sisters is certainly a possibility. Maybe it is from me not being able to break my fall with my hands until I was in 6th grade. Seriously, I was in and out of the emergency room my whole childhood because I knew not to use my hands when I fell. Imagine a kid constantly breaking his falls with his chin, forehead and the rest of his head. My hands are pristine. If you have ever seen me, next time take a closer look and you will notice scars over scars on my chin and forehead from these most unfortunate of events. To this day, I remember my dad sitting down with me in the living room of our house and falling on purpose just so I could watch how he used his hands to catch himself. Remember, I was in sixth grade at the time. I wasn’t 3 or 4, at least physically I wasn’t. I was what a politically correct person would call a gifted child. Not much unlike the Utah Cub Scout Goober hiding from his rescuers.

When I first moved to Dallas, I set out on a task to find a good place to get my mop chopped. I initially set out for this joint called Toni & Guy. Don’t get me wrong, they did a superb job, but they also did a superb job of taking $45 of my hard earned, well hardly earned money. I had to find somewhere cheaper. After many gouges, millions of stray hairs and many a long nights touching up after my haircuts from various assembly line shops. I decided to try this place I heard on the radio one day. It is located deep in the heart of the Dallas gay community right off of Peter Springs a.k.a Cedar Springs.

I call up this shop not expecting much and they ask which stylist I would prefer. I said gimme one because I haven’t been in before. The sweet lady, which turned out to be a pink haired middle aged lesbian, but sweet nonetheless, said I would be meeting with Leslie for my appointment.

I must say that I was kind of excited at the opportunity to get a girl since I would be traveling beyond my comfort zone into they gayness which is Peter Springs. The day of my appointment I walk in the store and check in. Pinky says Leslie will be right with me. As I scanned the chopping floor, I notice only one girl and she was with a client. My girl must be in the back I think. About 10 minutes later, I glance over and see about a 6 foot 2 black man, wearing skin tight hip hugger pants that looked like they were made of spandex and a mesh shirt coming my way. I dare not stare, but gaze through the corner of my eye. Already feeling a little uncomfortable I pretend not to see him. He comes up and says, Josh? Wondering how he knew my name I say what’s up man, using the word man loosely. He said, I’m Leslie, you ready?
Damn the luck.

Well it just so turns out he’s a pretty cool guy and does a great job of cutting my hair and massaging my head and neck in the wash sink. (Quit thinking crazy thoughts. Its his job.)

Several months go by with good haircuts and then last Tuesday rolls around. Now Leslie has never come out and told me he was gay but someone like this doesn’t have to come out. When someone brings up penis’ pills in conversation you just know these things. Ladies, guys may think about penis pills and if they work but they don’t just chat it up with their buddies about trying them.

Well I was sitting in the chair and he tells me that I may need to think about letting him try something different with my hair. He suggests some blonde highlights, to which I reply, ahh hell no, I don’t want to look like one of those gay Backstreet Boys...

Have you ever started to say something and know as soon as you start saying it that you shouldn’t be saying it, but you just can’t make yourself stop? Well it came out and the scissors suddenly stopped. Punching myself internally I start to get nervous again. I don’t want to look at him but I’m staring in the mirror with him behind me. I’m thinking I need to pull something out of my ass for damage control but I have nothing. After a long silence and no clipping, maybe 10 seconds, he says, “Well then!” That’s it. He finishes my hair and proceeds to do a crappy job of washing my hair and leaves me with no neck massage. WTF?

What will happen to my lumpy head when I go back? Only time will tell. I may have to write about my freak accident at the chop shop at a later date.

Good’aye!