WIlliam Hung A Bike Up A Hill By Mistake

“This was a mistaaaaaaake!” That’s what I shouted while I rode my bike up a hill today on my way back from Big Lots (I bought a mattress box spring set thing and yes my insides are melting with joy). I was making awful grunting sounds on my way up that hill, which was actually a really pathetic hill but for whatever scientific reason biking up a hill is much more painful than walking up one. And I was carrying a queen sized mattress + box spring on my back so it was even more difficult. Kidding. But it did feel like I was.

I proved again today that I am the William Hung of small talk. (That is to say I’m embarrassingly bad at it. William Hung was a terrible singer on American Idol in 2004 for anyone who is reading this who is 11 years old and therefore born post-Hung.) The kind gentleman who rung me up at Big Lots today was writing my address down and noticed we lived in the same complex and he casually asked when I thought the pool was going to open to which I opened and closed my mouth and mumbled an alien dialect. It shouldn’t be that difficult to converse with someone who is friendly, but I was sleep deprived and hungry, which causes my introvertitis to really act up. If through your internet travels you stumble across this post, good sir, I apologize. I’m way more articulate in writing than I am talk..ing.

Where do you think Fiji water comes from? The bottle says it’s “from the islands of Fiji: Natural Artesian Water”. I think, loosely translated, that means “Kentucky State Fair Port-a-potty run off.” Because… that’s what it tastes like.

William Hung is married, fun fact if you’re interested. I wonder what he’s really like? He must be buckets of fun because anyone willing to embarrass themselves on national TV like that and then capitalize on it for years to come with little to no shame must be a laugh factory. But I imagine him to have a caring side as well, like maybe he’s a good listener.

I can’t wait till my bed gets here. Fully expect for these blogs to stop because my insomnia will be cured and all I will do for the foreseeable future is sleep. God bless America.

Prego Pizza And The Suburbs

I rode my bike today through the most beautiful suburban neighborhood. The weather was perfect, the grass was green and the sky blue with just the right gathering of non-threatening clouds. There was a happy song playing in my ears and I thought, “This is the part where I get hit by a bus,” because that’s just how my mind works. But it was such a perfect, beautiful moment that it didn’t seem real. It was a six mile bike ride though, so the endorphin’s have worn off and now I just want to eat an entire Chipotle, like the building and everything.

Last night I thought I had solved my air mattress problem (play-doh has many uses outside of telling little kids who want to use it not to mix up the colors) but I woke up this morning pleasantly greeted by the concrete earth beneath me. But then I looked across the room at my bike, and I remembered that it’s my day off and that I get to see one of my bestest pals in a few days and I didn’t even care. I’m sure next week when something goes wrong at work and I spill food on my shirt then have to go home to a deflated mattress I’ll be singing a different tune. But for now I’m very happy.

What else…

Oh, I saw this guy on a bike on the way here, except his had a motor in it.. somewhere, and so he just blazed his way up the hill we were both working on and I almost veered into oncoming traffic, distracted by how ridiculous he looked. I called him a cheater but I don’t think he heard me. Oh! And last night I really wanted pizza and there’s a place fairly close to me that’s open till 4 am so I thought, it’s cheap lets give it a try. Mistake. I could’ve made (warning: hyperbole coming in 3.. 2..) 50 lasagnas with the amount of sauce they put on that pizza. Also, I think they inflated the wait time, so that way when they showed up at my door fifteen minutes after I placed my order I would think, “WOW, that was so fast, I’m so impressed! Wow! Here’s a huge tip, you’ve got my business forever!” Yeah, well when you cook your pizza dough in an easy bake oven and toss 15 bottles of Prego on it, we can sort of tell.

I don’t eat pizza much, but lately every time I eat it I’m more and more disappointed by it. Anyway, I wonder if these librarians will mind if I catch a quick nap on one of these couches. Really starting to feel that ride.

Deflate-Gate In Apartment B

My first night in my new apartment, I went to Walmart and purchased an air mattress. Not just any air mattress, but a queen sized air mattress. The fancy ones that people take on camping trips that are packed next to their phone chargers and inflatable Jacuzzi’s. The kind Tom Haverford would take on a camping trip. (Parks and Rec fans, you know what I’m talkin about.) It wasn’t crazy expensive, but it was nice enough.

Fast forward to a few weeks ago when one sad day, I woke up on the floor. Mind you I didn’t fall asleep on the floor. I fell asleep on a fully inflated queen air mattress. But I woke up on the floor. Because my precious air mattress had finally succumb to the disease that all air mattresses eventually become victims of: mystery holes you cannot locate if a gun was held to your head and your mother’s. I searched that thing forever looking for the culprit but came up empty.

Now, I’m the kind of person that, when something inconvenient happens, I find a way to convince myself that its really not that bad, and that there’s probably a perfectly acceptable alternative that will make me happy again. SO, with Scientology level brainwashing, I convinced myself that I actually liked the feel of a slowly deflating air mattress. That it kind of felt like a water bed. I could live this way for the foreseeable future, sure. It’s not the worst thing that could happen. So every night before bed, I take my hand pump and refill the air, fall asleep on the fully inflated mattress as soon as possible, and wake up on the floor. Tuck and roll, go about my day, and do it again the next night.

Well, people, I’ve reached my limit. The brainwashing is wearing off and I’m finally seeing the light. I hate this. I no longer look forward to sleep. I just hope to collapse into a zombie like coma on my mattress-floor. I know this is a very first world thing to complain about. I know that people have diseases and starvation and real things to deal with. It’s just me in my decent, if not empty, well sized apartment with a full fridge and a limp air mattress. But I just wanted to document these feelings so that, as my dear friend said, when I become the next Oprah I will remember these days I spent on the struggle bus that is early adulthood.

Last night I believe I found a solution to my deflate-gate. Updates to come. Or not, I can’t make those kinds of promises.


Sorry I Didn’t Buy A Mattress Dan

Today I walked to the health food store near my house to purchase some Vegenaise, the more delicious, hippie cousin of Mayo. On my way back I stopped at a Mattress Firm, thinking I could peak in and browse, get an idea of how much mattresses cost. That was a mistake, but I realized this before it was too late to back out. Almost as soon as I walked into the store, I was accosted by this strange man named Dan. (Dan, if you ever read this, this is not a personal attack on you. As strange as you were, you were just doing your job.) Dan had an exuberance about selling mattresses that I’ve not seen in anyone doing anything. He spoke about the mattresses in the possessive, as if he had made them personally and shipped them in from his castle on the land of No Personal Space.

Before I knew what was happening, Dan had me sitting at a computer preparing to do a credit check to see what my financing options were for my mattress. Luckily I needed ID to complete the process, and I hadn’t brought any ID with me. I thought that would be the end of that, but Dan had other plans. I should also mention that when I walked in, Dan began his sales assault by asking me what music I was listening to. Sneaky Dan, finding an in with me and also a way for me to have to remove my earbuds and converse with him. Well played Dan.

Anyway, since I couldn’t evaluate my financing options, Dan decided to show me some of “his mattresses.” He spoke as if all I really needed to do was tell him which one I wanted and the mattress would appear in my apartment in the same instant. So he broke down the categories of the mattresses, from firm to plush, the memory foam options or the traditional spring. He even invited me to “kick my feet up” and “take a nap” on some of them to really get a good feel for it. I politely told Dan i would not be doing that. Dan also attempted several jokes, but he really enjoyed he ones where he basically implied he never left the store.

I finally just told Dan I had to leave but that I’d be back maybe I don’t know we’ll see. I’m really thankful Dan wasn’t selling chocolate or kittens because I can guarantee with 100% certainty that I would have a kitten (or a bar of chocolate) right now.

The Girl Who Didn’t Win The Lottery

So there I was, sitting in Pep Boys waiting for my car to be returned to me when an older black lady starts talking to me. She’s nice, telling me about a different car place that’s apparently better and gives better deals in that mythical land of auto-mechanic honesty. Anyway, she tells me I look like a college student and if I had heard about the girl who just moved here from Chicago. The way she smiled made me think this girl that moved from Chicago must’ve helped this woman pay for her electric bill or something because she was smiling so pleasantly.

And then she tells me, did you hear about her? She was driving down the road not far from Pep Boys and her phone just flew out the window. So she got out to get it. And she got hit by a car. And she died.

This story is not out of the ordinary in terms of surprising stories about death you don’t expect to hear from strangers. The odd thing was that the woman was smiling the entire time she was telling the story. Up until the moment she said the girl died, I expected there to be some triumphant turn of the events where the girl won the lottery or found a unicorn or discovered the cure for cancer. That was the tone in which she told the story. And even after she confirmed that the girl had died, she was still smiling and I was very confused. She then said that if her phone had flown out the window, she would assume it was cracked and would’ve left it. “But she was young,” she said. “She wanted to get out there and find her phone.” So I guess that was the point of the story… that young people value their phones over their lives. Which I’m to now assume is the general consensus among people in their late 60’s.

I would not go searching for my phone in the streets. Just sayin.

Anyway, life update. My car… oh that wonderful, black hole of all my hard earned dollars. Apparently it needs new brake pads, rotors all the way around and a new wheel bearing whatever that means. Anyway the guy gave me some exorbitant amount it would cost and looked at me as if he expected I would just climb up my money tree right then and there and hand him some bucks. So I pretended to think it over, but I was really thinking about what I was going to have for lunch. Then I told him, yeah, maybe no.

So if you know anybody selling a used car, I’m over here! I think it’s time to move my car purchasing into, at least, the early 2000’s. Is that too lofty a goal? Probably. Anyway, I’m gonna finish watching Married At First sight while I clean because you needed to know those very specific details.


Ramblings Of A Deflated Air Mattress

My blogging game has been subpar, at best. And for the blades of grass that are disappointed by this, I am incredibly sorry. I wish I had an interesting reason for why, like I’ve been really busy or I got engaged or started building a treehouse, but we all know I’m just lazy. And less observant probably. I also spent 4 days with my family while my sister went and got her empty diploma casing from an accredited American university, and I didn’t want to waste precious time with my blood relatives telling the non-interested internet about my non-interesting life.
But I’m back! To tell you several things. For one, Texas is gross, in terms of weather, and I don’t understand how anyone voluntarily lives there. It’s very swampish. But I’m sure it has its perks too. I mean, I didn’t see any, but I’m sure there are. Probably really authentic mexican food or something.
Also, cars are stupid and I’m thinking of buying a bike and saying goodbye to the traditional way of travel. Which means I’m gonna get really skinny, which isn’t really a goal of mine, but sometimes life takes you on paths you don’t expect. What… else.. People are very fake. Social media proves that to me everyday. I mean, I’m sure most of us try to be our best selves on the internet, but some people are so much their “best selves” that they actually become a separate person to the one they are in real life. Someone said that everyone shows their “highlight reel” on social media and I find that to be true. Though, if social media were my highlight reel then I may as well go live in a cave because my social media is 100% boresville. I think I use it more to try and be more funny than I am in real life.
I realize that this post sounds incredibly cynical and maybe borderline depressing, but I’m actually really happy because I have a watermelon chilling in my fridge right now and when I get home I am going to eat the whole thing. I love watermelon. (If I ate the whole thing I would die. I speak almost entirely in hyperbole, sorry.) I don’t like fried chicken (well I think I would probably like it if I ate meat, but the idea of tearing into the flesh of an animal makes me very sad), I’m not a fan of kool-aid, so I think maybe my love for watermelon might be one of the few things that make me feel connected to my people. Oh, and soul food, which consists of a lot of meat so it would have to be a pretty select choosing. What on earth am I talking about? These are the ramblings of someone who has spent about 3 weeks sleeping on a deflating air mattress.
Pricey things I need to buy:
If you have any of those things and would like to give them to me, I promise that I will beseech the Good Lord to make you look 10 years younger. If you are ten, you will look like a baby, but that’s okay. Also why does a ten year old have those things? Did they steal them from their parents? I don’t want that stuff if you stole it.
What’d Tom Brady do?
Okay, bye.

This One Is Long And Ranty. It’s About Vegans and Racism. Enjoy.

People make fun of vegans, and most of the jokes I hear about vegans are hilarious. But you guys, have you ever tried to be vegan? It’s difficult. I mean, not as hard as surviving a war or battling a terminal illness or living in a slum or being an orca at Sea World. But it’s that kind of difficult that I’m sure rich people feel when they have to, I don’t know, wait for their private jet to warm up during the winter.

Anyway, for the last couple of months I’ve been pretending to be vegan. I say pretending because I don’t buy dairy products, but if I go out to eat, I’ll have something with cheese in it. I’m already vegetarian, so it’s not that big of a transition. Also I eat bread that I’m sure has some kind of dairy in it, and I use honey, which apparently a true vegan wouldn’t do because of bee exploitation or something, I don’t know. Anyway, like I said, I’m a surface vegan, and even that is difficult. But it is forcing me to be more creative with my meals at home. Where I would usually just sprinkle some cheese on pasta or between two slices of bread and call it a meal, I now have to find a way to put actual flavor in my food, instead of depending on the salty, oily goodness of cheese.

You know those people at potlucks (Adventists might understand this) who will eat every greasy casserole and load up at the dessert table and then make a big show about how they don’t eat like this everyday and ‘oh maybe we can go on a little walk after this,’ ‘oh I used to be so small, I never used to eat like this,’ blah, blah, blah. Every potluck has them. Even if it’s just you and three other people, someone will get to talking about it.

Racism. (I’m all about surprise transitions.) There’s way too much that can be said on this topic. Racism isn’t still around because we won’t let it go. It’s still around because of ignorance, and because pretending that something does not exist doesn’t make it go away. Changing laws doesn’t change mind sets. People don’t have healthy views of other races or cultures because they aren’t required to. A group of people can live in their own little universe their entire lives without having to encounter anything or anyone different, and that’s the danger. We seem to still have a “separate but equal” mindset, us vs them. Racism is our problem, all of us who live and work here.

This country never got the therapy we needed after slavery and the civil rights movement. White people were just expected to get with the program, but a lot of them didn’t want to, and some still don’t. So black people, we’re defensive, we’re unsure, we’ve never really been welcomed, we just kind of stuck around and were expected to acclimate, live by the rules that were made before we got the chance to have a say in what the rules were. That doesn’t make sense! How can you expect enemies to get along when they were never made to understand each other. That’d be like taking a kid who was kidnapped in a basement for 15 years, freed and then told, okay now this family that treated you so badly, well they want to adopt you! Isn’t that wonderful? Now, here’s your room, your clothes and where you’ll be going to school. Have fun!

Is it any wonder why there’s so much unrest? So many twisted up mindsets and confusion? We’re still a young country, and we haven’t made sense of our past. It’s just that weird spare bedroom that no one talks about. We need to swing that door open and do some renovations! Talk about it! Oh, but then you get the people who say, “oh my family came here from Germany after all that, we didn’t own slaves.” I see that you took a wrong turn at the point. 

Anyway, shutting up. I want pizza.