Growing up. Haircuts. Sanna. Moving On.

When I was younger, my mom was always one of those people that told their kids they could grow up and be anything they wanted.  Astronaut, President of the US, rock star, athlete, elephant, zebra, etc.  When I was maybe four or five years old, my family asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up.  I stated that I wanted to be an elephant or a zebra.  Twenty years later, I can still count on this story being brought up any time the family is together.  A message to you youngsters out there: you can't be anything you want when you grow up.  Especially if you want to be an animal.  Life is bullshit sometimes.

Other than realizing that you can't actually be anything you want, growing up also ruins some other aspects of childhood:

• Getting mail- when I was younger, I used to try and get the mail every single day and would look at it all to see if anything was addressed to me.  I don't know what I was expecting, but I just wanted to open the mail.  The mail I get today is complete ass.  I check my mailbox once a week or so, usually on Wednesdays because I get Sports Illustrated.  If I didn't get SI, I might go weeks without checking it.  The only mail I get these days are offers from banks, cable companies, humane society, and shit about work benefits.  There are currently 6 unopened letters on my table.  My desire to open mail has long passed.
• Snow- snow is amazing when you are younger.  You pray for enough of it so school gets canceled.  You can throw snowballs at cars, make snow forts, play football on it, go sledding, shovel sidewalks for money, etc.  Snow as an adult means you need to get up earlier for work to clean your car off, give yourself enough time to get to work on time because people automatically forget how to drive in snow, shovel your own sidewalk or pay someone to, and work rarely gets snow days. 
• The Simpsons- this used to be the best show on TV.  I would come home from school and watch the reruns at 5pm, 6pm, and 10pm on Fox.  Their new episodes on Sundays were always must see.  You know the phrase "all good things must come to an end?"  Well Matt Groening doesn't.  The show is currently in it's 23rd season and hasn't been relevant for about ten years.  It's kind of sad to see someone or something stick around way past their prime.  I don't know one person who still watches the show. 

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I went and got my hair cut today.  I don't really give a fuck about my hair.  Is it blond and extremely soft?  Why yes it is.  But I don't style it, let alone brush/comb it.  I just let it dry and it is what it is.  If I don't shower, I wear a hat. 

So when I get my haircut and the person asks me how I want it cut, I usually just say make it shorter, take it above the ears.  That is the extent of my directions.  Normally, the cutter accepts these directions and does the damn thing.  The chick who cut my hair today acted like I was speaking Russian.  After receiving my directions, she had follow up questions for me: should she use scissors or the trimmer on the back and sides?  Listen bitch, you don't tell me how to do my job, I won't tell you how to do yours.  Just make it shorter.  My response to her was "it doesn't matter to me, whatever is quicker."  She stood there for a few seconds just staring at me until I finally looked back at her.  I just repeated "I just want it shorter and above the ears."  "How much shorter" she asked.  As if I had an exact length I want my hair to be.  I couldn't even guess as to how long my hair was.  Four inches, seven, 12?  I would have no idea.  Guys don't think about that. 

She eventually grasped the concept of making it shorter and began to work.  For the rest of the haircut, we didn't talk at all.  I never know if haircutters (do you call a girl a barber?  I refuse to say I went to a stylist) want to chat while working or if they need silence to concentrate.  For reference, the guy in the chair next to me wasn't talking to his haircutter either.  But I've been to the same place and had a guy cut my hair and we talked the whole time.  Maybe I just need to go to the same haircutter each time.  Moving around does not bode well for a barber/haircutter/me rapport. 

When I was younger, my dad and I always went to the same barber.  A real manly place.  Where guys talked sports, he had one those red, white, and blue spinning things outside his place, and there was nothing fancy about it.  Also, he gave me a pretzel rod before leaving which was fucking awesome.  That might be where my love of pretzels stems from.  My dad would always tell the guy "above the ears, tapered in the back," and the barber didn't need any additional direction.  As I got older, I began giving the same directions.  Worked like a charm.  But alas, I grew up and moved away to places that apparently need more than said directions.   

I have a friend who is 26 years old.  He tells me that he has gone to the same barber (Chuck) since he was 10 years old.  He moved out of state more than a year ago yet still goes home to Chuck to get his hair cut.  That's either extreme dedication or just stupid.  To be fair, dude has a huge dome so I imagine Chuck has some special ordered extra large scissors or some shit that gets the job done.  There really is no other excuse to drive 3+ hours home to get a haircut. 

Back to me, here's a timeline of my hair style through the years:

This is my school picture from second grade.  Please notice that my mom used to always comb my hair to the side.  To this day, this picture remains in my wallet. 

Even back in the day, I had quite the fashion sense.

Throughout high school and the first year or two of college, I had a bird's nest of hair.  My uncle once referred to it as "M80 hair."  It was long and it curled in the humidity.  My sisters took to referring to it as "gutter hair" since it curled at the ends pretty much along both sides and the front.  Apparently it looked like I had gutters. 

This was Spring Break in Windsor, Ontario.  Drinking age: 19 in Canada.

 Had to try the second grade hair style out for one night at least.

Homage to the old days.

From that whole head of hair, I went to this.  This was sophomore year in college.  I agreed that if we scored so many points in an intramural basketball game, I would shave my head.  I don't think we actually ended up scoring the right amount but I did it anyway.  This wasn't the first time I had shaved my head, as I had done so in 7th/8th grade.  Shaved it real short, size one on the clippers.  Not being used to such short hair, my dome got a hell of a sunburn one weekend.  For the next week or so, my head was peeling and many classmates made fun of me for having dandruff.  I never forgot to put on sunscreen after that first time. 

I've always had a love for mustaches.

With the short hair, of course there was a mohawk phase.  I think I had it for about a week and a half.  While in classes though, I never took my hat off.  I wanted the 'hawk, just didn't want all the attention.

That's my old roommate Piso.  His hat says Grandpa's Sidekick.

And now I'm back to normal-ish hair.  This was from September but that's about where its at today. 

Beer of choice: Imperial.  Rather tasty.  Choice of facial expression: extra douchey.

Going back to my haircut from today, the cutter did a damn good job.  I think it turned out pretty well.  Except for the fact that she talked me into letting her put some product into my hair before I left.  It ended up looking like I just hadn't showered and had greasy ass hair.  Washed that shit out real quick when I got home. 

As I've always stated, shaving the back of the neck is the best part of a hair cut.  The shaving cream is hot and they use a straight edge razor.  One fail swoop and she could slice me up.  It's dangerous and feels amazing all at the same time.  Like jerking off in a library.
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Last weekend I participated on the Santa Rampage 2011 which I was highly looking forward to.  As previously mentioned, I had done a Santa bar crawl last December back home in Chicago with my sister Katie and it was fucking awesome. 

The first stop was downtown at 6pm.  Not wanting to drive or deal with parking, I hoped on the bus and rode in costume to the first bar.  Sitting on the park bench for 3 minutes before the bus got there, I must have had seven or eight people yell shit at me from their cars.  I could already tell it was going to be a good night.

First stop was at the Stage on Sixth.  I was meeting up with some friends but I was the first one to arrive, so I watched these play a giant version on Jenga.

Game lasted maybe 6 turns.  Not so easy when the pieces are fucking logs.

We were supposed to leaved the first bar at 7:30 but my friends had shown up a bit late and we stayed longer than most people.  My guess is that there were around 100 or so people at the peak.  This picture does not do justice to how many people were there.

Pretty shitty picture

This is the only picture I've seen that includes my friends and me. Note to self: get a photographer next year.

Fancy bar that gave us beers in fancy glasses.

There were seven stops on the crawl.  I only remember making it to the third stop but have been told we made it to the fourth one.  I was home by 12:30am.  I have been told I had a great time.  If you'd like to see more pictures from the Rampage, check out these sites: http://www.flickr.com/photos/amicitas , http://www.stevehopson.com/SantaRampageIndex.htm, or http://www.flickr.com/photos/patsmedia/sets/72157628375467753/

I make an appearance or two on each site.  You can see how creative people got with their costumes though.  I went as regular ass Sanna.  Others put more thought into it, some put even less. 

I can't recommend a Santa bar crawl enough.  I imagine tonight would probably have been the last night for any, but be on the look out next year.  I would imagine most large cities will have at least one. 
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 In real life news, there are some big changes on the horizon for me.  I have accepted a new job in Cleveland, OH and will be moving in early January.  My last day at work in Austin is the 30th so things will be moving quickly for me.  The job was just too good to pass on.  Believe me, I tried to justify staying in Austin.  It was an extremely difficult decision to make, but in the end, I just couldn't not take it.  I moved to Austin last December 30th so I will have lived just a few days over a year, likely 367 or so days.  And that year has been incredible. 

Having never been to Austin, I had no idea what to expect.  My knowledge of Texas came from movies and TV shows so I was expecting dirt roads, horses, lots of guns, and country music.  What I came to learn was that Austin is something like the 15th largest city in the country.  It is a hotbed for technology, food, and especially music.  The two large music festivals have been widely documented by myself months ago.  Austin will be surely missed.  The weather, the people, the atmosphere, my job, all the people I have encountered and worked with, will forever be ingrained in my memory.  I keep describing the move as bittersweet. 

On one hand, I have a lot of friends who live in and around Cleveland, will be a hell of a lot closer to my home, and the new job is a great opportunity for me and my career.  On the other hand though, I'll be leaving everything I just mentioned.  Reality hasn't set in for me yet and likely won't until my last day of work.  My boss took a chance on me and gave me this great opportunity.  The only interviewing I did for my Austin job was over the phone and Skype.  For all they knew, I could have been some three legged freak who drinks too much.  Luckily for them, I only have two legs. 

My sister Katie and I have already made a pact to return to Austin each March for SXSW, starting in 2013 as our other sister will be getting married that weekend this upcoming March.  So have no fear Austin, you haven't seen the last of me.  
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I'm heading home on Wednesday.  The next day we will be driving 8 hours to the UP to go snowmobiling and skiing.  Super excited about this trip.  I've mentioned it before so I'll be brief: we have three full days to kill a keg of PBR, the Bears/Packers play Christmas day, as do the Bulls/Lakers.  There is going to be so much shit packed into this one vacation.

On a similar, super fucking excited that the NBA is back.  I watched the Bulls first preseason game online last night.  Shit doesn't even count but I passed up going out to watch them at home alone for the first time since May.  Bulls headed to the 'ship this year!!!!!!!

Some people have asked me what I'm going to do with the blog once I move.  (At least one person has asked me).  It will continue on.  The name will probably change, but Cleveland is a foreign land to most people so I will continue to tell tales from the road.
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 Y'all come back now. 

Home. Sweet. Home.

I just feel the need to point this out: the first sentence of my last post I stated that I had recently participated in the 98th annual Warrior Dash of Central Texas.  That statement is in no way accurate.  I'd be shocked if it was even the fifth one they ever had in Central Texas.  I just felt that it was so out there that someone would call me out on it.  Instead, it has made me realize that those few who actually read this, don't actually read this.  
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Thanksgiving is, arguably, my favorite holiday.  The only one that rivals it is St. Patrick's Day, which probably seems a bit cliche.  From my stand point, you can't have my last name, be born and raised in an Irish-Catholic neighborhood, have one of the largest St. Patrick's Day parades mere miles from your house, and not be a fan of St. Patrick's Day.  Having an excuse to drink beer and whiskey at 9am on a Sunday morning in March is just a side effect of my upbringing. 

Even better than that though, Thanksgiving is all about reconnecting with family, eating the finest American foods, and drinking the coldest of beers.  Also, watching lots of football and apparently playing Let's Dance 2 and 3 for up to four hours. 

I made the trek home from Austin the Wednesday before Thanksgiving.  I had a short flight to Houston (where I had a two hour layover and drank several early vacation beers) and was at home on the south side by 4:30 that afternoon. I don't know why, but in Chicago the day before Thanksgiving is called Black Wednesday.  Supposedly it is the largest bar night of the year.  College kids are back from school, family members are in town, and mostly everyone has the next day off.  It's a huge deal back home but has definitely not caught on in other parts of the country (read: Ohio or Texas, the two other places I've lived).  

Black Wednesday did not disappoint.  I'd write a paragraph or two about my experience, but to be honest, I don't remember much of it.  Which is why it did not disappoint.  At one point, I ran into an old friend from grade school.  We were pretty good friends back in the day and I hadn't seen him in a while so we were shooting the shit for a while.  After a bit, his girlfriend found us at the bar and asked him to go to some other part of the bar with him (or to leave with him.  Again, details are fuzzy).  He declined, explaining that we hadn't seen each other in a while and wanted to stay and talk with me.  Well, girlfriend did not like hearing this.

"You want to stay with him rather than leave with me?"
"Yes, I do."

It went back and forth like that for a solid 6-8 minutes.  Meanwhile, I'm just standing off to the side trying not to say anything to offend her.  Granted, I had never met her before but I just didn't want to make things worse.  From what I remember, I won the battle and we continued to talk for a while.  No idea what happened with him and his lady after that.  A quick Facebook search tells me they're still together so it couldn't have been that big of a deal.  I keep thinking though, "what if I was the reason an old friend and his lady broke up, just because he wanted to catch up." I don't know if I would be proud or disturbed.  Probably proud.  I doubt you read this but good luck Ryan Quinn.  Hope I didn't ruin your shit.  If I did though, it was probably for the best.

The bar we were at didn't close until 4am on Black Wednesday and we were one of the last few to leave. 
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As you can imagine, Thanksgiving day was ROUGH.  I didn't wake up until about 1pm.  We were leaving for my aunt and uncle's at 2 so I barely got up in time.  On the way, we stopped to pick up some booze: 30 pack of PBR.

I hadn't seen most of my extended family since last Thanksgiving, longer for some.  My cousin Char Char (no one actually calls him this, but we totally should) who now lives in Oregon, was in.  While catching up, I found out his work schedule is 11am-7pm and became immediately jealous.  I can't think of a better work schedule.  It allows you to wake up late, leave work pretty much after rush hour, and still go out at a decent hour on any fucking day.  Beats the shit out of my 8:30-4:30 hours.  Granted, I have a lot of day left when I get home but I usually spend an hour or two of it sleeping because I have to get up so early.  So when I wake up or decide to go out around 6-6:30, traffic is awful. Note to self: start own business and set working hours 11am-7pm. 

Thanksgiving with the family was fun though.  Spent most of the time on the couch watching football, eating copious amounts of delicious food, and plowing through that 30 pack.  One of my aunts randomly decided to bust out the Wii and the game "Lets Dance."  I was kind of pissed at first considering they turned off the final football game of the night, but watching family members of all ages playing the game definitely made up for missing the shitty football game. 

The game involves holding the Wii and attempting to follow the dance moves on the screen.  For those first timers, it took a few rounds to get used to it all.  Now I have roughly 27 younger boy cousins.  And every single one of them were hitting Beyonce's moves like it was nothing.  Something you want to tell us all, younger male cousins? 

We eventually left the party and headed home.  The drive, normally about an hour, felt like 5 minutes for me.  Probably because I was woken up when we pulled in our driveway and realized I had slept the entire way home.
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Friday was my family's pseudo-annual themed drinking night with our radical Pilgrims and Indians theme.  This was our first themed party in a few years and everyone was pretty excited.  When the time came, we had more construction paper, paper plates, scissors, tape, and staplers than your average Sunday school.  What follows are the masterpieces that each of my immediate family members created.  (Bro-in-law Pat and little Paddy were also present and each had their own respective hats, but unfortunately I did not document them.)


This is my Pammy.  When questioned about her hat, she pleaded us to "just imagine it was black."  It was a light blue.    

Part Mad Hatter, part Pocahontas

This is my pops.  He decided that the florescent lights in the kitchen were too bright and he needed a visor.  It's what Sitting Bull would have used as well. 

 

Part Native American headdress, part Blackjack dealer

 These are my sisters.  Gabraham Lincoln (taken from Gay Abraham Lincoln) and another original headdress.  We're clever. 

We play a mean game of Spoons

Last but not least is what I made.  It was the only original idea of the night.  I stapled a strip of construction paper across the back and was able to wear it on my dome. 

And yes, it was pointed out that it is similar to the turkeys on South Park

We proceeded to proudly wear our masterpieces, celebrate good times, play games and most importantly drink.  My uncle (not my real uncle) and his son ended up coming over for a bit as well.  The eight of us proceed to drink two 30s of PBR, almost a full case of MGD, and roughly three-fourths of a bottle of Paddy's Irish Whiskey.  I woke up on a tiny ass couch in the basement with one of my dad's old fire department coats over me as a blanket. 

Good time was had by all.
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As you might imagine, Saturday was fairly quiet.  I went and saw the new Muppets movie with my folks.  If you grew up a fan, you will not be disappointed.  That's my best Roger Ebert impersonation.

As the night progressed, Katie and I got antsy about staying in so we ventured the three blocks to one of the many local bars.  Two of my friends met us up there and we began drinking beers.  Keyword: beer.  As it began closing around midnight, Katie and I switched bars while my friends went home.  Again, we were only drinking beers throughout the night.  Granted, many beers, but no shots or mixed drinks.  Can you feel the foreshadowing here?  I'm trying to lay it on pretty thick.  I get back to my folks house around 3am or so, where I proceed to eat some 'za that I had geniusly made before we even went out for the night.  Next thing I remember is Katie and dad standing over me, trying to wake me up.  I was on the floor of my kitchen.  It was 5am and my dad was heading to the fire house.  "Wake him up before your mother sees him," is what he said to Katie.  Not my proudest moment.  Out of a possible eleven rooms (4 bedrooms, 3 bathrooms, living room, kitchen, basement, and laundry room), I slept in three or 27% of them.  Probably below my season average. 
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Sunday would normally be a funday on most instances, but after four straight days of excessive drinking, we decided to take is easy.  That is, until the Bears game started at 3pm.  Up to another local bar we went.  Throughout the game, more and more familiar faces showed up.  What started out as Katie and I, grew into three tables full of roughly 12 of us.  Some of the people were my dad's friends and their kids, which I hadn't seen in years.  We proceeded to cheer on the Bears the only way any of us knew how: drunken and obnoxiously.  In the end, the Bears lost on the worst ending to a football I've ever seen, but we had a good time.  Katie and I have a standing agreement that if one of us wins the strip card at the end of each quarter (which is at least $50) that we buy Irish Carbombs.  Well neither of us won but we still did carbombs.  Which, shockingly, were only my second or third of the weekend.  Looking back, it could be a lot more than that but I can't be positive.  
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Sadly, the fun ended on Monday.  I love returning to the south side.  I get to bond with my nephew (who drools all over anything and everything, AT THE SAME TIME), reminisce with friends, have a great time with family, and of course annoy my mom.  It wasn't much of a sad departure though, as I will be home again on the 21st for a skiing vacation.  Hopefully I'll be able to knock out two more rooms on my household sleeping tour.
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As I just mentioned, I'm going home again on the 21st.  The next day we will be driving 8 hours north into the UP to go snowmobiling and skiing.  We're also bringing a keg of PBR.  I swear my family is not consisted of hipsters, it's just one of the few beers that we can all agree on.  Dad likes MGD, a few of us like Miller Lite, but all of us enjoy PBR so it just works.  The scraggly beards and flannels will be side effects.  
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 Basketball update: the season has finally come to an end.  Some have called it a great season, others have called it an extremely successful season.  Neither of those guys played on my team.  We officially went 0-7 and lost by a combined total of 122 points throughout the season.  On average, we lost by more than 17 points.  Seriously.  And this is just a rec league.  Imagine the ass beatings we'd have taken if this was a serious league.  To be fair, I missed two games throughout the year, both due to work parties.  The games I missed, we lost by 34 and 16 points.  So in the games I participated, we only lost by 14 points per game.  By my calculations, I was worth 3 points per game.  Beat that LeBron. 

Hanging up the sneaks until next season.  Not sure when that'll be but hopefully I can be more of an impact than 3 points per game.  Let's be honest though.
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It is semi-well known that I live in Austin.  It is not well known that one of my good friends lives in South Dakota.  It is even less well known that said friend has 3 brothers.  And it is even less, LESS well known that the five of us have all drank together on many occasions thanks to the awesomeness of Skype and Skype-like technology.  Now my friend in SD is Chris.  He has two older brohans and one younger.  Now, I have the phone numbers of his youngest brochacho and his next oldest broseph, so I can get in touch with them whenever I want.  I mean, I never want to but could if needed to.  It's his oldest brother Mike who is the mysterious one.  I don't blame him though.  He's got a wife, two young kids, and three dumbass brothers to look after.   When I'm Mike's age, I hope I still have the stamina to drink with a bunch of younger motherfuckers online.  Is that too much to ask? 
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On my way to and from work, I pass through a roundabout.  If you don't know what a roundabout is, go watch any movie set in England.  You will inevitably see one.  On my way to work, I go three-fourths of the way around.  On my way home, I go the remaining one-fourth.  Together, it equals one full turn, but does it really?  I have thought about that every single day since I moved to my new place in October.  The to and from commute is obviously a busy time so I always just carry on with my 3/4 and 1/4 turns.

Every so often, I go out for happy hour after work.  Let's just say that after one of these recent happy hours, I did the unthinkable.  I did the full rotation on the swing set.  I did the dizzy bat game without falling down.  I did the gallon of milk chug without puking.  I DID A FULL FUCKING ROTATION AROUND THE ROUNDABOUT.  And it was everything I dreamed it would be.  There is a giant tree in the middle and some workers were adding Christmas lights to it.  I imagine that after watching me complete my circle, they thought I was either A) a jackass, or B) a drunk jackass.  Let's just call it a small notch off my bucket list and move on.
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If you listen to a decent radio station, you are aware that the Black Keys new CD "El Camino" came out today.  Go and buy this fucker.  I bought it for $7 on Amazon.  Worth every quarter.
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Y'all come back now.