Ask Me About My Awesomeness

Let me explain a little something about awesomeness. When someone that's awesome thinks you are awesome, your own awesomeness is hence formally validated. Which leads me to Patrick Tillett. He is awesome all on his own for a number of reasons. I would list them all, but I am lazy so I'll tell you just a couple.

1. His blog is like an ongoing reading of Running With Scissors.
2. His blog is based on his life so that makes it even cooler, or more awesome if you will.
3. Despite the first two reasons, he is still an awesome (and very kind-hearted and intelligent) person and writer...instead of the potential crack monster he could have been based on his childhood.
4. He also blogs beautiful pictures from Japan that make me want to go there even more.
5. He gave me this award:
   

patricktillett.blogspot.com

Aaaand the award's only rule is that I include a link to his (awesome) blog and pass it along to another awesome blogger.

So here you go A Mainland Streel. If Martha Stewart had a personality and didn't trade illegal stock tips, it would be this little Canadian bad ass. She is awesome as well.

P.S. I was kindly informed by my friend M that my links "never fucking work" so I apologize in advance if they don't . I, myself, am still excited about the fact that I correctly copied and pasted Pat's award. Awesome.

The Importance of The and A Blog Award

If Obama came up to me and said, "Hey Lindsay, I'll give you a million dollars and let you ride with me to Hawaii on Air Force One and buy you a puppy if you stop reading Kate's I Am The Worst Blogger everyday, I'd be like, "No, thanks, Mr. President. Kate's the shit and now she's even more the shit because she gave me an award." Then I'd be like, "Blam!" and show him this

Thanks, Kate! By the way, I just realized the importance of the word "the". Take, for instance, me calling Kate "the shit". To refer to someone as "the shit" implies their coolness, their ability to rock in the figurative sense, and/or their general all-around superiority. However, omitting the "the" redefines the subject as simply "shit", or excrement. So, Kate is definitely THE shit (Obabma still is too) and now I present you with 10 Things That Make Me Happy....

1. Money Pants. Money Pants are a pair of pants you put on that you haven't worn in a long time, only to find there is money in the pocket. You might also find a note reminding yourself to do your laundry which explains the smell coming from the pants.


2. The Taco Truck. The Taco Truck is a magical, Cinderella-esque place. When the clock strikes 2am and alcohol has been absorbed into the bloodstream, cuisine from this mobile miracle becomes delectable. I don't care if the carne asada is actually corned cow ass, just wrap it up in a burrito and I will happily stumble on my way.


3. Making People Fall Down. You know, when an old lady is trying to cross the street and you act like you're going to help her, but then you push her into traffic and yell, "Gotcha, Grams!" Kidding. KIDDING. But really. I train a martial art, Capoeira, and there is no better feeling than taking someone down. Which leads me to one of the 10 Things That Specifically Do Not Make Me Happy: being taken down.
   
4. Q-Tips. You and I both know that there is no better feeling than shoving those pointy little cotton sticks into your ear right after a shower, swirling it around, and observing the yellow residue it collects. And if I'm a guest at your house and I use the bathroom, I am not above taking advantage of any Q-tips in plain sight...or in the medicine cabinet or in that little drawer by the toilet.


5. Re-Heated Pizza. Pizza the first time around - right out of the oven, out of the box, whatever - is great. Pizza re-heated in a microwave to the point where all the cheese and toppings goup together in gooey, nuked matrimony is greater.


6. Dramatic Reading of a Real Break-Up Letter. I have to credit Allie from Hyperbolie and A Half for this one. She used to have the link on her page. It goes to something different now, but you can still find it on youtube. Ah, young love - school dances and touching someone's hands for stupid reasons. Read it. You'll see what I mean.


7. The Snooze Button. In your face inventor of the alarm clock! Ten minutes of sleep (and another and another) is never quite as appreciated under any other circumstance
   
8. Sporks. Generally, I prefer spoons over forks. Spoons allow for maximum volume of food consumption per utensil lift and are not bothered with those nasty little slits found in forks that permit sauce/grains/crumbs/cheese slivers to escape. However the fork is much more adept at the initial food contact, ensuring a secure grasp by piercing said food and maintaining hold until the desired location (i.e. your mouth) is reached. And so - the spork. Ta-fucking-da.


9. Head Massagers. These things look like a cross between a giant whisk and an electric chair helmet (pretty sure that's not the correct term.) But they feel AMAZING. Funny that it took humans so long to invent this when dogs have been getting their heads scratched for years.


10. Friends and Family. Yeah, had to say it. I am truly blessed to have so many people in my life that are each wonderful and amazing in their own way...and are all crazy enough to love and care about me back. Aww.

So, ahem, had something in my eye. Anyway, now I shall pass this award on to 10 more worthy bloggers. (Weird. For some reason, I just heard James Earl Jones' voice saying that as I typed it. Try it, makes it sound really important.)

• Elizabeth Shibboleth
• Fourth Grade Nothing
• A Rainey Day...with a chance of Sunshine
• MicaelChadwick.com
• patricktillett.blogspot.com
• The unforgiving minute
• That's Not How You Do It
• Tony's Diet Log
• Ramblings of an Insomniac's Mind
• Quilting In My Pyjamas

The above are all some more people who are THE shit, not to be mistaken with shit.

Sociable Jesus!

A few years ago, some friends and I were all sitting around a booth in a restaurant. Everyone was laughing and having a good time, everyone except for...let's call him K. K and E were a couple. K and E were fighting. K was not laughing or having a good time, but was moping over his tuna melt.

Suddenly, fed up with K's sulky behavior, E snapped across the table, "Be sociable, Jesus!"

An awkward silence was attempted before someone snorted, "Who's Sociable Jesus?" (Did I mention we were drinking?) This comment, of course, caused the entire table - including K, a.k.a. Sociable Jesus, - to erupt into asshole-volume laughter. And that was the night that sweet baby Sociable Jesus was born.

From that moment on, it was our favorite inside joke.

"Having a party? Don't forget to invite Sociable Jesus!"

"Feeling blue? Sociable Jesus has your back!"

"Who's that at the bar? It's Sociable Jesus!"

You get the idea. I imagined dropping out of college and buying a screen printer. I could start with T-shirts featuring a grinning, cartoon-esque Jesus with shrugged shoulders and turned-up palms, as if saying, "Don't worry, be happy! Sociable Jesus is here!" He would be superimposed onto a bright yellow sunburst, and over the top would read the exclamation, "Sociable Jesus!" Sometimes he could be holding a frothy beer or he could be customized to wear your favorite football team's jersey. Once the idea caught on, I could branch out into hats, key chains, and beach towels.

Eventually Sociable Jesus would be sold to Saturday Night Live as an animated sketch, complete with a sit-com laugh track. Whenever he entered a scene, one of the other characters would announce, "Hey, everybody. It's Sociable Jesus!" There would be an applause and Jesus would "yuck, yuck, yuck" and offer some bonehead advice in a voice crossed between Goofy and Ryan Seacrest.

Well I did not quit college, which, as you can see, has obviously paid off as I'm an unemployed sales clerk writing this in my robe at 2pm on a Wednesday. But the Sociable Jesus dream lives on! One day you'll be at Wal-Mart and you'll see the What Would Sociable Jesus Do? board game. Until then, I call it! Mine!

Oh, and God bless.

Beef Jerky and Pregnancy Risks

Why did I ever forget about the 99¢ store? Or maybe it just used to be more forgettable. That and less applicable to my own life. As a college student, I didn’t really have a need for a two-pack of crappy dishtowels when I didn’t even have any dishes to be toweled anyway. Anything that required liquid-absorption could be obtained in the manner of fistfuls of napkins at fill-in-the-blank fast food chain or stolen from the toilet paper dispenser at work. (Okay. Well, I did pay for tampons.) And at that time you could get a pack of 10 ramen noodles for a dollar so I had no use for a specialized establishment.

I actually forgot all about the store until a few months ago when a friend offered me some 99¢ beef jerky. 99¢?!? How come the beef jerky I stare at and drool over and can’t afford to splurge on is $4.99 and this perfectly good (well…) beef jerky is 99¢?! I was deeply intrigued.
A few weeks later I got laid-off. This should have triggered an immediate call-to-action response of résumé revision and frantic Craigslist searching, which, in time, did – just after some well-deserved mystery meat for under a buck.

Of course, Plan A was a simple grab-my-grub-and-bounce operation. (What else could I possibly want for a dollar?) However, Plan A was aborted the moment I stepped through those once-upon-a-time-automated doors.

There’s a seductive power that overtakes you when you walk into a fluorescent-lit superstructure packed wall to wall with 99¢ inventory. “I can afford to buy anything in here,” I breathed incredulously. I had to stop myself from spinning around and around, arms outstretched, Sound-of-Music-style.

But you can. Buy. Anything. They had nylons and Cheetos and hair products and…condoms? Whoa. Now I can justify buying 99¢ dehydrated meat (and a huge bag of jelly beans and what I’m pretty sure is a shoe horn) but condoms? Protective material designed to prevent pregnancy and sexually-transmitted diseases? Sounds like saran wrap and a pair of crossed fingers will work just as good.

Thus was my snap back into reality. Don’t get me wrong. If the place had a membership, I’d be getting my tenth stamp on my little card right about now and my apartment is starting to look like Ariel’s treasure trove of crap. But frivolity has a line, and buying a 12-pack of condoms for 99¢ (trust me, you’re gonna need the extra dough for baby furniture in about nine months) is crossing it. So if you’ll just ring me up for my David Hasselhoff calendar and Jr. (not Junior) Mints, I’ll be on my way.