A Few Things

Windshield wipers are a bitch.  I have two thoughts about them and each depends on where I'm sitting in the car.  First of all, I didn't get my own car until I was out of college so naturally I rode shotgun in a lot of cars.  In college most of my friends just assumed I didn't know how to drive because literally no one had ever seen me drive.  (Side notes: five friends and I drove to Panama City, FL for Spring Break one year.  The drive was 17 hours each way.  Every one else in the car took at least one turn driving.  Except me.  People were honestly leery of me driving.  While I didn't end up driving for a second, I did occupy the co-pilot's seat for a solid 2/3 of the entire drive.  Best co-pilot this side of the Might Mississip.  Also, I would also like to point out that I drove my sister Katie, two years older than me, to the DMV to get her license.  Proving that I can drive and learned to at an early age.) 

Anyways, I spent a lot of time getting driven around and thus a lot of time judging people's driving habits.  If there is a need for the wipers to be on while I am a passenger, I always tend to judge the driver based on how infrequently the wipers were turned on.  Most people I ride in the car with (not counting parents) tend to turn the wipers on and off each time, as opposed to setting them to go off at a certain interval.  If I'm a passenger and I see someone only turn them on when they absolutely need to, it annoys the fuck out of me.  They are programmed to go off every few seconds for a reason, yet most of my drivers completely ignored this fact.  The timed intervals enable the driver to focus more on the road than trying to fiddle with the knobs.  (Fiddle and knobs were two words I did not expect to type tonight.)  So, if I'm a passenger in your car: 1) you live a sad life and 2) turn the fucking wipers on and leave them on. 

Now, if there is a need to have the wipers on and I am driving, I like to turn the wipers ...on and off each time.  I don't like for them to have a set interval to go off.  Most of the time this is because there isn't a need for constant wiping.  Maybe I just have a dirty windshield (on the inside) or shitty wipers, but I try to use them as least often as possible. And yes, I realize this is me being a total hypocrite.  But at least I can admit it. 

So to recap, people driving me should leave their wipers on a constant interval.  I think that when they aren't wiping, I (as passenger) begin to fear the windshield is becoming too clustered with rain or snow, regardless of what the driver feels.  While I am driving, I will turn on the wipers as I very damn well please.  I also never like to turn them on full blast.  I like knowing that no matter how hard it is precipitating (fancy word), I always have another notch I can turn it up to.  It's like a wildcard in my back pocket.  I only pull it out when absolutely needed.  Like that expired condom in your drawer.  Emergencies only.
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I found out the hard way that I bought the wrong kind of deodorant.  And I made the discovery at the worst possible moment: while rolling it on my ugly ass pits.  Let's get some facts straight right away: spray deodorant ( a la Axe) is not for regular guys.  It is for bros and brahs.  For guys who take pictures of themselves in the mirror.  And they also generally have some sort of product on their body, whether it be hair gel, face cream, moisturizer, or just man cream.  And yes, that was a semen joke.  Gel deodorant is just weird.  It always makes me feel like my pits are constantly wet and/or sweating.  It's kind of sticky too and it doesn't tend to work as well.  For my pits, the only way to go is the white roll on shit.  I don't even know what else to call it.  The absolute worst part about realizing I had bought gel deodorant is realizing that I bought two sticks of gel deodorant.  It was two sticks packaged together which was the reason I didn't open them at the store and realize my giant mistake.  Ladies, if you're out there, I have about six months of gel deodorant on my horizon.  Get me while I'm still available.  Which will probably last all six months, if not more. 
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I'm sure I'm not the first person to bitch about this (but what if I am?) but buying tickets online buh-lows.  I have four, possibly five (make it happen PollKat), friends coming to visit me the first weekend of March.  Our goal is to see the Bulls-Cavs game.  I looked at the Cavs website tonight and could have bought six $26 tickets for $195, including fees.  Simple math tells you that six multiplied by 26 is 156.  The tickets themselves are worth $156 which, I believe, is a reasonable price.  But then here comes the fees.  Thirty nine fucking dollars in fees, $36 of which is for a CONVENIENCE fee?  How in the fucking word do they have the balls to call that a convenience fee.  I know everybody hates fees and I'm probably the fourth or fifth person to ever bring this up, but it really chaps my ass.  It's to the point that I am willing to give up my lunch hour at work, walk about six blocks to the stadium, and buy them directly from the box office.  After re-reading that, I am more than willing.  Screw you "convenience" fee.  I'll save my $40 and buy five beers with it.
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I participated in the Mantua Country Bar Crawl a few weeks back with Farmer.  Crawl is used loosely here, but not for lack of trying.  We began at the local (read: 35 minutes away) Bdubdub for a layer of fried wings and beers.  We then headed to the next local bar (read: another 30 minutes away) where they had, no joke, a noose hanging from the ceiling.  It's not like you can misinterpret the meaning or reason behind a hanging noose.  We left that place rather quickly and headed off to the next bar (read: right across the street, so we actually semi-crawled after all.)  This bar was more welcoming than the last and thus was packed.  We ended up staying there till close.  Every time we went up for drinks, we also did shots.  With that being said, I woke up on a bed at about noon the next morning.  I have a vague recollection of stopping at McDonalds in between.  Suffice to stay, decent bar crawl. 

Best part was milking a cow for the first time ever.  (Farmer lives and works on a dairy farm.)  Contrary to popular belief, you can't just tug on an udder a la the Shake Weight.  Because when I instinctively made this motion (which I guess just came naturally.  Jokes on so many levels here, hope you can keep up), nothing came out.  I was informed that you basically need to grab the udder with your thumb and index finger at the top of it then roll you fingers downward, thus expelling the milk from the teet.  The actual motion is pretty much impossible to describe in writing so just look at my picture.  This is the cow I jerk...er, it's the cow I milked. 

We later got a room and had a magical night.

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 Four is a few right?
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Come back, wont'cha?

Life (Back) in the Midwest

For those wondering, I finally did get the gas turned on and thus have been taking normal showers for about two weeks now.  Although I did have to wait another week after the original no-show by them.  Pricks.  You never realize how much you take hot water for granted until the gas company fucks you and you're stuck heating up water on a heating plate.  Now the worst part about my shower?  The hot water only lasts like 20 minutes.  Which blows. 
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I've been in Cleveland for about a month now so I feel like I am qualified to bitch about things that were better in Austin:

I already mentioned the state of the roads so I won't go in depth again.  But the crazy thing is that the city fills in the pot holes pretty regularly.  Meaning that I will drive into work having to dodge craters, then drive home and see the same potholes filled with new asphalt.  And the next day, most of that asphalt is usually on the street surrounding the crater because cars continue to run it over and ruin the filljob.  (Filljob might not be a word, but it totally could be).  Thus the vicious cycle continues. 

I have a terrible feeling that Austin may have ruined my appetite.  For a full year, I gorged on amazing Mexican food, the finest BBQ meats, and gourmet meals.  Well, at least the first two.  Now that I live only hours from the Canadian border as opposed to the Mexican border, I just can't get my fill.  I have been to the store a few times and haven't even been able to find ground turkey to make tacos.  The tortillas are in the dairy coolers as opposed to being made fresh in the store.  They only sell mild and medium salsa.  It drives me fucking crazy.  I was never one for hot stuff.  And now that I grow accustomed to the hot shit, I can't find it?  Life really is unfair sometimes. 

I used to have a dresser drawer filled with nothing but shorts.  Basketball, plaid, cargo, cammo (not that anyone could tell), etc.  That same exact drawer is now filled with sweatshirts and sweatpants.  Now I am in no way discrediting sweatpants/sweatshirts.  Some of my finest articles of clothing start with the prefix sweat. 

I mean, I knew what I was getting myself back into, I just wasn't prepared for it all so quickly. 
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Good deed of the day: just saw a commercial for Burger King.  They are offering buy one, get on free chicken sandwiches.  Limited time offer so go stock up.  And don't say I never did anything for you. 
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There is a local furniture store in Cleveland called Norton Furniture.  They have locations in and around the city.  The greatest thing about these stores is the commercials.  They always star the owner Marc Brown who has, literally, the creepiest, raspiest voice in the country.  The commercials are basically handmade videos with awful acting, terrible lighting, and of course they star Marc.  I offer you the following commersh with no additional commentary.  Youtube has plenty more, if you are so inclined:

Pretty badass that Google owns both Blogger and Youtube so I can just upload any Youtube video.  May have to take care of that more often. 
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Going to the Cavs-Heat game on Friday night.  Can't wait to get bombed and yell things at Lebron from the cheap seats.  Definitely going to be worth the $50 tickets.  Going to a minor league hockey game on Saturday night.  Can't wait to get bombed and yell things at the guy sitting next to me.  Hope he takes a puck to the dome.  Definitely going to be worth the $7 tickets.
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I'll end with two pictures.

The same day I bought my hot plate from Walmart, I also saw this item.  Sadly, I don't remember what it was anymore as this was taken more than a month ago.  Again, presented without further commentary:

Wouldn't want to sleep next to that thing. 

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And lastly, my nephew Paddy:

Kind of want to know what he's looking at. 

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Please come back now.  (Texan accent has given way to that Midwestern kindness)