Speaking of being mediocre

Holy hellfire, we're such sad sacks that we can't even keep up a blog about our sad-sack-itude.

Personally I've been kept busy by alcohol, social networking websites, finding a job, and my current job...in exactly that order. But here we go, how's about a little shot of adrenaline for MLHF.

I think I may be suffering from insomnia, which is kind of a drag. I have spent the last five nights or so just laying there until maybe 2:30AM, keeping up with the news. Then I'll get spotty sleep until 5:00AM or so. It's been great.

My Low Hanging Solution to this problem? Well, first I'm going to turn to the drink (natch). If that doesn't work I'll find some other drug. After all, this is America, dammit, and if a problem can't be solved by alcohol or a pill than it can't be solved at all.

-Tall Man

What do you think? Benadryl?

Been some time...

Alright y'all -- been slacking due to new job acquisition. (Job acquired, I'll take my bows now....)

I just wanted to throw down a few LHF videos or comments to grease the wheels a little bit again.

THE MIDWEST:



WHY??

Other notable LHF-esque things of the past month or so:

South Park showing us how obsessed we have become with Facebook (myself included)

The Harvard Sailing Team giving us the girls' perspective on guys and guys' perspective on girls and throwing it down with style.

Goldman Sucks

#1 Seed Eastern Conference NHL loss.



Today is my last day at Madlax, I promise I'm working really hard -- discobelle.net is pumping all day -- thanks to Btollzz.

A hobbyist's worst nightmare.

Life is about experiencing new people, places, and things. A new hobby can be inspiring and fun -- "Bro, did you see that kickflip I just nailed?" "I sure fucking did!" As you roll to a stop, your endorphins are pumping through your veins with a feeling of euphoria. What a sensation.

But I want to mention those particular LHFers who might be starting up a new hobby. Those few people with all the ching ching $$ money can buy and the stick-to-itiveness of a Kirstie Alley on Weight Watchers (AKA none).

Take sample hobby: X. X + $$ + Kirstie Alley Syndrome = disaster waiting to happen.

I can recall back in 7th grade, a certain lacrosse player who will go unnamed on my middle school team. He always had the freshest equips -- man -- his shit was DOPE. He even had one of those wicked lime green "Catch Me If You Can" stickers on the back of his helmet (we'll just say that challenge was easily attained).

My philosophy is that if you're going to have the flyest gear, you better be the capital M to the M A N and do it right. As they say, don't be that guy with "all the gear and no idea." And, as they say in England, don't be a fuckin' gammer.

Working hard, at being lazy

My car has been on the fritz for a little over a month now, and I am just now trying to muster the gumption to fix it. The worst part is, that I could have done this work myself in, oh, 2 hours at any point in the last 6 weeks. I just hate taking care of stuff like that.

Last weekend I got my roommate to drive me to Autozone, where I bought a battery. Now I need to buy a positive battery cable on eBay (the old one was so corroded that the little copper strip connected to the lead nut actually snapped), and I can once again drive myself around.

I’ve been taking the bus everywhere I don’t want to ride my bike, and also doing a lot of walking. I hate walking, just not as much as diagnosing and fixing a mechanical issue in my car. To be honest, I kinda like it. I’m pretty sure I spend less money, I never have to give anyone rides, and I’m actually starting to get used to Charlottesville’s crappy public transportation.

I assume something’s gotta give. I’ll need to drive myself up to DC at some point, or my roommates will get tired of chauffeuring me around. But until then, I’m happy to pedal around town.

God I hope that nothing breaks on my bike.

In actuality, this is how it is.

They tell you what's what.

Paciferin

Paciferin: n. an infection-resisting factor found in natural foods. I've been trying to think of a scenario when I would feel comfortable enough to speak a word such as this around my friends and not feel like a complete d-bag....but, alas, I cannot.

These and other such "big" words are used day to day by common folk not too different from myself. I would say maybe 2-3% of the population might know what that word means -- that said, the 97-98% of society has no idea what that means, nor do most of them care UNTIL it's used in a sentence by their peers.

I'm talking about the definition-play-along. Some of us can pull it off: 1. whomever is speaking doesn't care to call you out when you "yes" them. 2. you can use context to figure out a half-def and spit some half-ass rebuttal like "oh yes, like in papaya" -- I usually use a fruit/food item less common to catch the smarty pants off guard.

I now know what paciferin means. (by the way, paciferin comes up as the wrong spelling and asks me to change it -- obviously it's too difficult for Blogspot, idiots.)

Weddings

The weather’s really turning around here, which means that wedding season is right around the corner. I have to say, I’m disappointed. Why aren’t more of you people getting married so I can get drunk and hit on that cute cousin of yours?

Seriously, I love weddings. Free booze and food, live music, friends, and family. Plus, everyone’s hammered. You can’t lose.

But let’s be honest. I’m not getting hitched anytime soon. Not by a long shot. Which means one of you has to step up to the plate here, and help me out. I haven’t been to one in two years.

There’s no time like the present, particularly in regards to my chances with your girlfriend’s sister.

42 Extra Long, if you were wondering.

I'm concerned with this email in so many way it's scary.

Attention, attention, read all about it -- the Sausage Pillow Pulverizer and Denim Destroyer have teamed up to pilfer your bolster...oh me, oh my.

From: C***** N******
Sent: Thursday, March 18, 2010 10:05 AM
To: Bethesda
Subject: Help here please...

Hi folks – I had a denim bolster (a sausage-shaped pillow) on my chair, and it’s gone missing since yesterday evening. Has anyone seen it?

C******

C***** N*****|Special Assistant to the TeaEO


Get that work done on a Thursday morning!

G-Flirt: The Revolution.

Let me tell you a little bit about technology. It fucking rocks.
Today I ordered a pizza from Papa Johns online, while watching
Spankwire, and DVRing the new hit HBO miniseries, The Pacific, from my
cell phone. It was convenient, titillating, and captivating all rolled
into one awesome 15 minute break in the office kitchen. Really -- the
stuff people have figured out to do with technology.

But, more specifically, the internet. The information superhighway is a
vast and infinite hole full of Brazilian fart porn and ways to
purchase knock off Gucci on the cheap.

Outside of all those www's: something else happened: a new way to
instantly communicate with anyone, anywhere, as long as they had a
modem (har har) and a computer. Do you remember AOL Instant
Messenger? I do. It was on AOL that I broke up with my first
girlfriend, and then had the rebound girl explain to me that she
shaved her box. Seriously. I was 16. Awesome.



But somewhere along the lines AIM took the back-burner to a new
e-mail/instant chatter in one. Gchat. And here comes the
revolutionary part, girls use the hell out of it. So what do I do? I
g-flirt.

That's right. The art of tactfully disarming a future hook-up online
has become ever more achievable. Instead of multiple coffee dates and
movie nights with no touching, I write expense reports and chat babes all
fucking day long. Maybe I met you at the bar and we drunkenly danced,
but you got freaked out when I tried to get you to back it up on me.
You ran away, but I friend-ed you on Facebook and now we're gchatting
everyday -- now you're done.



G-flirting is the fucking tits. I've never gained more intimate,
personal knowledge from a member of the opposite sex as readily and
quickly as I now do through g-flirting. It's retarded. Of course
there are some draw backs. When we finally go on a real date to see the Oscarworthy performance of Jeff Bridges as Bad Blake in Crazy Heart,
and I take you to a Thai restaurant for dinner, it feels a little
forced sharing info face to face. That's OK. You looked hot in that
top anyway.

And there's so much more liberation in telling someone all your dirty
little secrets without actually seeing them. It's so easy. Just a
few strokes of the key. And I stroke right back. G-flirt stylie. See
you on the dance floor.

POSTED BY A SO SO T-REX, the cheeky flirt

Go Big or Go Home

If there is one person in the United States of America that completely exemplifies the LHF lifestyle, it’s this woman.

She is actually trying to gain weight. Not just some weight, but 400 additional pounds in the next two years; added to the 600 pounds she already weighs, that would bring her up to a grand total of 1000 pounds. Half a ton. As much as this.

She says that so far it’s been hard to gain weight because she has to “chase” her daughter around. Though that might be the case for a normal person, because she weighs 600 pounds she can’t move more than 20 feet without one of these babies, so I doubt she’s burning too many extra calories.

And as if all that weren’t enough, she (obviously?) can’t afford her 12,000 calories-a-day diet. The solution? Start a web service where people pay to watch her gorge herself. I guess once you’re voluntarily creating a freakshow, you may as well sell tickets. It's like Field of Dreams, except instead of baseball and a cornfield it's a land-walrus and corn-dogs.

You think people would pay to watch me eat? I could stand to put on a couple El-Bees.

I got it from the Gucci store, bitch!

At a recent black tie event at the University Club in DC (my kind of place -- ballin'....), I had to wear a tuxedo. Keep in mind, before this year, I owned zero tuxedos, in fact, I had never even worn one. But as fate often gives you mysterious gifts, I was hand-me-downed two different tuxedos. As it turns out, the expensive tuxedo was the one that fit me: SCORE!

Apparently, finding different ways to talk about respective tuxedos isn't that cool of a thing to do at a black tie event. My excitement was almost unbearable. At first, I started with some easy ones, just fishing, so I could throw it right back -- "What kind of tux is that? Looks nice." "Oh, it's Jos. A. Bank." Psshhhhhh (that's the sound of me spitting the last sip of my drink on his pants).

As I recover, calm and collected, "Mine's from Brooks Bros," as I open my jacket. I look down once, back at his face, then once more, and close the masterpiece slowly.

I proceeded to tell at least 15 different people (including wait staff) in various ways about the brand of my tux. I went so far as store my phone on the inside pocket and pretend that it was getting a call, then, pretend my phone was stuck to gain valuable label time for the off chance someone noticed its branding.

I obviously shop there loads....

Cyril Northcote Parkinson worked hard his whole life to create a theory of why we, as a species, don’t really work all that hard. In his book Parkinson’s Law, he outlines a general rule for the way people work: “Work expands so as to fill the time available for its completion.”

It makes perfect sense. Every time a person is given a task, they are typically given a timeframe in which to complete it. It’s so obvious.

That homework’s not due ‘til 2PM tomorrow? Pass me a beer.

You don’t need that PowerPoint until Thursday? What’s up, Facebook?

We all like good news from the scientific world (What’s that? Wine is good for you? So is chocolate? Well I guess I know what I’m having for dinner!). Next time someone asks you why you “procrastinate”, kindly explain to them that it is human nature. Tasks aren’t due ‘til they’re due. Now where’s my Xbox controller?

Amazing that I got this post done in such a short time...IVH

P.S. Click the image for the exciting conclusion.

Oh heyyy!!!

This scenario I'm about to describe has happened to ALL OF US -- all of us. I'm talking about that cringing moment when you thought you were involved in a two way interaction, but really, you're the outsider. You're ashamed, you're embarrassed, you're confused, but mostly, you're just plain disappointed with your overeager unprecedented actions.

That's how cool you feel -- and no! not when he was Stefan............sexy, sexy Stefan.

Whether you're cruising down the street or popping into the grocery store, this low hanging fruit is bound to happen sooner or later: the dreaded mistaken wave.

Oh boy oh boy, I must be popular! Look at that hottie wiggling their hand my way...

All of a sudden, something happens; you start weighing and analyzing:
That sort of looks like so and so...
Why isn't so and so making eye contact?
Our paths aren't going to cross!
No effort is being made to divert in my direction!
Oh crap...



If you had a tail, this would be a great time to shove it between your legs. But, I've figured out a way to bring it back on the predator: pretend you know them! Ask some ambiguous question about how their weekend was and jab, jab, hook, upper cut -- you're back on top. Now this "stranger" thinks they're the asshole -- not the best karma, and you're still a joke, but at least you know some unsuspecting victim can be duped just as you were.

Try it next time you're rocking a fruitless greeting by use of the hands -- if you can feign past the awkwardness and keep your cool, you can turn your low hanging fruit into, well, more, yet different, low hanging fruit...choose your poison.

GAR -- love me some awkward human behavior

Bunny Season

Yesterday I had the profound realization that when I got home from work, for the first time in what seemed like ages, my front porch was still bathed in sunlight. This can only mean one thing: this godforsaken winter is drawing to a close.

The time between winter and spring is awesome. Not only are the days getting progressively longer and warmer, but also my favorite day of the year sits in this weather limbo: the first day of bunny season.

For those of you who don’t know what bunny season is, here’s a quick definition.

Bunny Season n. [buhn-ee see-zuhn]:

1. The season following winter and preceding fall. See also: spring/summer.

The first day of bunny season is when there is a sudden spike in the percentage of women “laying out” in various grassy patches on college campuses all over the country.

This is the time of year when people start to come back out of their shells. No longer needing to hibernate, people begin to venture outside, play sports, and generally frolic about. So what activity should we, my LHF brethren, partake in? Maybe soccer? Jogging? How about a little game of touch football?

Nope, no, and you’re crazy. There’s only one thing to do on nice days in early spring: Porch sit.

Porch sitting is the ultimate LHF pastime. Zero effort, no excess money spent and, particularly during bunny season, huge return on time invested. A warm day hanging out on the porch with a cooler full of delicious light beer and burgers sizzling on a nearby grill is good old-fashioned fun. Adding in the extra awesomeness of bunny season kicks it into nirvana territory.

This Sunday will likely be warm enough to coax out some of the braver individuals, who will likely suffer through a 50-degree day just to get an “early base”. Look for them in the evening, sprinting back to their sorority houses in Daisy Dukes, as the temperature drops back into the sub-arctic territory. Plenty of entertainment for a good ole’ porch sit.

You know where to find me. And yes, it's BYOB. IVH.

Man I burned like 12,000 calories on the treadmill today.

No you didn't, otherwise you'd be one M. Phelps, who, by the way, does follow the puff, puff, pass mantra.

In reality, you're probably much like many other people around this great country and looking for an easy out. By saying that you burned 12,000 in one workout on a treadmill significantly builds your excuse repertoire. You may have burned somewhere between 200 - 400 calories in your semi-effort filled workout spent mostly staring at Mr. or Mrs. What-A-Freaking-Ass.


DAM! Imagine how you feel after this "awesome" workout. What does that make you want to do, or, should I say, eat? Mmm, the possibilities stream through your mind like numbers to an accountant or 1's and 0's to Keanu Reeves.



This is where your low hanging fruit comes in to play. I've heard this too many times to count and I've used it even more: I worked out today so I can eat/drink whatever I want. In fact, I've used this same LHF mindset twice this week, since Monday, and used that same excuse this past Sunday: since I "worked out hard all week and I deserve it."

Here's a couple free life lessons:

-You probably didn't work as hard as you thought
-You didn't burn as many calories as you thought
-That double bacon Monster Thickburger is in no way good for you
-Life isn't fair


As discouraging as this may be to many people, including myself, I am attempting to embrace reality.


(attempting)



(attempting)



(attempting)



(attempting)


But then again, who gives a shit? Mike, pass the bong, we're almost to Hardees.

I'd rather clean shit up.

On a typical DC day, if I thought hard enough, could probably cause my mind to explode thinking about the sheer number of parking tickets dispersed among the greater Metro region to us poor saps. Thousands and thousands of dollar poured back into the government from our own stupidity, illiteracy, laziness, or, for those with the luxury of deep pockets, not caring.

The first one, I've been there. The second, I sure hope not: one point me. The third, that's the money spot. And the fourth, for reasons other than described above, comes into play. It's more a mix of the third and fourth that applies to my own self.

Saying that, I'm not sure what's worse: being lazy, not giving two shits about getting a ticket and dealing with the consequences OR actually being a Parking Enforcement Officer. If you're not calling me a jackass for referring to them as an "officer", you should be.

The life of a PEO reminds me of a certain line from a very MLHF friendly movie: Office Space. "No, you're working at Initech because that question is bullshit to begin with. If everyone listened to her, there'd be no janitors, because no one would clean shit up if they had a million dollars." For those uninformed, Michael Bolton (not the flaming singer) is speaking of his high school guidance counselor asking him what he would do with a million dollars, and, from his answer, he would know what he should do for the rest of his life.

I'd rather clean shit up than be a Parking Enforcement Officer.

Sunday Funday

Just another Sunday in Glover Park, what other way to spend the day than wasting your money and health but have a great time doing it than Sunday Funday? I've had a few of these since moving to Glover Park, but none as memorable as that fateful Sunday.

During most of the month of January, I took a hiatus from drinking to cleanse the mind, body, and soul. It felt wonderful. Imagine waking up on a Sunday, Friday, Saturday, or pretty much any day if something cool is going on the night before and feel refreshed, awake, not decrepit, not like crap. Does this mean my entire life style has changed? No.

On this particular Sunday in January, I decided I don't need to drink on a Sunday to attend the same activities as those consuming. After a stint at the local watering hole, we cruised up the street to nosh some tacos and cupcakes. What to do next? How about the neighborhood strip club? What a wonderful way to spend a Sunday.

After paying $7.95 for a club soda, being WAY too sober for the Sunday line-up, and just feeling like a gross human being, we decided to get out of there. As if it were some divine and twisted fate, just as we were leaving said strip club, a friend and his mother were exiting the restaurant next door after a delightful Sunday meal.

"Oh, hi, how are you..."

"This is my mother..."

"Ummm," glancing back to where we once were, "very nice to meet you."

"So...."

"Oh man! That's not Five Guys! We were way off!" Definitely not that slick and just like that: our cover was blown....

If we only left a few minutes earlier or later, one less "adult" wouldn't think of me with disdain. Growing up? Overrated, too much work, and just not as gosh darn fun. Okay real world, here's the deal. You take weekdays, I'll take weekends, and you don't say shit about it.

POSTED BY THE SELF PROCLAIMED BIGGEST FAN OF THE GEORGETOWN CUDDLER

MLHF Of The Day

Stubbing my toe and almost falling over a box of recyclables that hasn't been taken out for months...at least I'm being green.

What's yours?

Rollin' in it....in middle school....

Back in the day of Vans shoes, Wawa, and adolescent misbehavior, I stood alone and mighty among my fellow compatriots for one reason. During those years, roughly 6th grade through the end of high school, I held positions in flourishing jobs filled with excitement and wonder, but mostly major $$ ching ching cash flow baby.

Have you heard of any 6th, 7th, or 8th grade kid making $10.50 an hour working 40 hours a week at UPenn during the summer? Doubtful. During middle school, that amount of cash was obscene -- like Macauly Culkin's parents after the Home Alone series. Well, that was me, and let's just say I wasn't exactly frugal with my new found pocket burner. BMX bikes, stereos, and extravagant lunches (which mostly consisted of pizza, Lunchables, and Slurpees) were just the beginning.

Moving on to high school, where I worked summers pulling down trees and serving during the year. I've never eaten out more than when I was in high school, and I'm talking legit restaurants too: Chili's, TGIFriday's, and all you can eat tacos at Mexican Food Factory. Not to mention the countless other items which are now useless to me, mainly that goddamn Mini-disc Player -- yes, I hopped on that creaking and rundown bandwagon.

Look at me now: I'm still rocking that same stereo, but now the CD player skips and doesn't read burnt CDs, the volume works in reverse, and the only thing that works correctly on it is the Mini-disc player. Great, now I can listen to Dynamite Hack, Radar Love, Rollin', Bling Bling, and a numerous mix of late 90s/early 00s classics at volume 11, but if I want to turn it up, I turn the dial down? Shit.

Eating out at such classy establishments as in high school? I think not -- ring, ring, dial up those frozen pizzas and Special K -- they're on hold, in my kitchen.

For now, I'll be reminiscing about that high hanging fruit from my kitchen/den/TV room/living room/dining room/foyer/lounge (yes, it's all one room) and smiling....

SNOW MY FREAKING GOD: an easier way to get around.

This past week in DC has been snoas (snow + chaos) for most. With a record snowfall of over 55 inches, beating the previous record from the 19th century, most of us have been stranded at home or traveling to work with inconvenience in one way or another: shitty roads, shitty drivers on the roads, or shitty vehicles with which to drive on the shitty roads with the shitty drivers. Not to mention, shitty Metro, which is shitty almost always anyways.

One of my friends has a perfect solution to his current predicament. Two days ago, he owned one of the most modern "old man" cars I can think of: the Toyota Avalon. Stranded, as he was, seemed unacceptable to him with his 2wd pop-pop car.

To combat arduous traveling means, he went an entirely different way. Instead of dealing for just another few days, another few minutes, or even seconds, he made his decision. More car payments? Crappy trade in value? Higher insurance? Less comfortable? Snow it!!! Why deal with this 2wd snownance when he can simply trade it in, get an AWD car, and go along with his day?

Snow he did. Snoblem snolved.

Happy Birthday Me

Ahh birthdays. When you’re younger and more innocent and legitimately excited to get one year older and you don’t have to worry about what the next year means in terms of success or life or whatever, birthdays are awesome. Your parents make or buy the birthday cake and your friends come over for your American Girl themed party bearing gifts that kind of blow but are awesome just because getting presents, any presents, is pretty sweet, right? Things might drop off a little in high school but still, I feel like this sentiment lasts until right around either your 21^st or maybe even through your first year out of college.

And then, birthdays suck. You’d think that sending out a few emails and telling people you’re going to a bar for your birthday would be an easy enough task. It’s not. First of all, it’s your birthday. Why should you have to plan it? Shouldn’t your friends be planning it for you? But no, chances are, your friends are as lazy as you are and fuck if they’re going to do any legwork. It’s not out of spite; you wouldn’t do it for them either so no one even suggests it. Second, there’s so much PRESSURE.

You have to find a bar that doesn’t totally suck so that people won’t be saying and laughing, for months afterwards, Hey, remember that bar where Greg had his birthday, how TERRIBLE was THAT? And it can’t be a bar where people can’t get in or move or talk or get a drink, because then everyone will be grumpy and it’s all your fault!

And then, you have to muster up the strength to actually invite people. And where before what took little effort – you tell a few kids in class that you’re having a party and a good crowd will show up – now you have to sift through your inbox figuring out who even lives in the same city as you anymore. In college/high school/kindergarten you had this never-ending supply of people who knew other people who knew other people and thus guaranteed a pretty good showing for the party. Now you’ve graduated and moved out on your own to really MAKE A NAME FOR YOURSELF and you probably only have like, what, 3 or 4 really good friends and a couple of coworkers with whom you are friendLY (there’s a difference) and let’s not forget those random few people who you met that one time at a party and you sometimes talk to on gchat and they send you evites to things you never go to but maybe, just maybe, they’ll come have a beer at this totally sweet bar where you’re celebrating your birthday.

Oh, and don’t forget scheduling. It has to be held at a good time so that all your friends/pseudo-friends can make it, so you pretty much have to schedule your birthday celebration around the schedules of those 5 or 6 who you want to come.

If you’ve made it this far and you haven’t already resigned yourself to just cracking open a Bud Light and watching 8 straight hours of TV, big ups to you since you’ve really gone above and beyond. Congratulations, you officially make some effort in your life. As for the rest of us, enjoy that Law and Order marathon on USA Network and Happy Birthday.

POSTED BY SNNNNAAAKKKKEEEEE

Can you give this note to Jenny?

I am hoping most of you can remember back to your elementary school days and your interactions with the opposite sex. Most of these interactions would be hilarious to any of us now. Think about who you may have been friends with, who you dated, and who you "dated".

Dating is the most objective thing in the world in elementary school, even before you know what the word objective means. Although many times dating is currently objective for some parties involved these days, the distinction is usually figured out with haste. During elementary school, this is certainly not the case.

I'm sure most of you have been a part of this exact same scenario: dating someone without actually talking with them face to face. In elementary school, options are limited, as well is space. But somehow, someway, you have the ability to completely avoid said person that you are "dating". You may take the long route to lunch or tie your shoes at the end of class to avoid the classroom-door-merge situation.

The only correct, seemingly appropriate at the time, ways of communicating are through an intermediary: phone, friend, letter. You may ask Johnny to give Susie a note to pass along to Jenny. Or, maybe, you get Jenny's number from Billy and muster up the courage for a phone call. You speak for 20 seconds about Ms. Margie's wig, before an awkward pause in conversation, and she suddenly needs to "get ready for her sister Betsy's ballet recital". You believe her and carry on as if all is peachy and dandy.

You continue communicating this way, avoiding eye contact, and generally acting like a wuss for another few days until unexpectedly, without warning, you receive the dreadful news. Jenny asked Louise to give you this note...."I don't want to be your girlfriend anymore - Jenny."

Confidence crushed, you regress to sweatpants, hollow chocolate bunnies to the face, and imaginary Lego battles until middle school, where you end up way behind the other sixth graders who managed to converse nicely with girls. Hello husky jeans, goodbye social acceptance.

I could have at least given up my Snak Pak at lunch and asked about her science class? Darn.

"Please turn off or silence all cell phones...

...during class," says the kindergarten teacher.

Obviously there is a need for a 5 year old child to have a cell phone to some parents, but I will NOT be one of them. This constant need for connection and protection of children has never been more apparent than now.

Rising threats in the world? More bad things might happen? Maybe, but probably not. The fact is that everything is much more publicized through different media sources. Twit this, FB that, yes, yes, I know that kid in Oklahoma got snatched up and shoved through a wood-chipper by some psychopath. Terrible right? Preventable with a cell phone in pocket? Maybe, but probably not.

Technology is great, but where will it end? I happened to see some middle school aged kids getting of their school bus the other day. One, two, three, four, five, they all filed off the bus and almost in the same rapid secession: cell out, cell out, cell out, cell out, cell out. Each and every one was face down, hammering away at their cell phone keys like Britney's publicist. Do you think they are all just texting their parents to let them know they made it home from school safe? Maybe, but probably not.

Are you being a better parent by giving your child a cell at age 8? Maybe. Are you doing it so you can easily locate your child almost effortlessly? Most likely. Is it to keep your child safe and if so, how will it do that? Yes! Um, they can call 911 once their bagged and tagged?

Do I think my life would have been improved by having a cell phone at age 10 (even though it would have been the briefcase style in 1993)? Maybe, but probably not.

Do I think by not giving my kids cell phones until they are at least in high school will make them hate me for it? Probably........but maybe not.







Arguments can be made for both sides and I can see both perspectives, I'm just saying, it seems like the easy way out.

Fighting the depressants of alcohol and conversation...

For many of the posts of MLHF, we can commiserate about our shared habits of mediocrity whether it be lazy hygiene, lackluster eating habits, or that ever so close but oh so far away dream of grad school. Well, in this explanation of mediocrity, my low hanging fruit may be someone else’s faithful pastime. In this case I am talking about ‘going out’… you know, partying.

Here it is… Friday night. Beginning of the weekend. Time to let loose and go buck wild. Maybe start with a little happy hour and see where the night (and the buzz) takes you. To some this may seem like a blissfully easy plan. To me, the thought of this process is painful and arduous. Fighting the depressants of alcohol and conversation to end up on a sweaty dance floor in the heels I swore I would never wear again? No, thanks. I would much rather pour all of my effort into the latest Harry Potter-esque series or Disney movie that I’ve watched over a dozen times in the sweatpants that know me and my couch way too well.

So, what is my low hanging fruit? It is the effort that I put into a Friday or Saturday night that affords me to stay out just long enough to be a socially acceptable 24 year old… but still allows me to get at least half way through Monsters Inc. or a chapter into the latest, best-selling fantasy novel when I get home.

… These posts are anonymous, right?

POSTED by ANONYMOUS PERSON I KNOW WELL

Following without following: Lemming laws.

What are instincts? How do they define us? Are they learned or based solely on talent? I'd have to say it is a combination of both a learned skill and a natural ability. Sometimes, our instincts take over: for better, or, for worse.

During a recent birthday party scenario, a friend and I were attempting to make our way to the draft house to nosh on some delicious pub-grub when we found ourselves locked into some sort of strange trance.............Game over: Lemming law in full effect.




We only snapped back from our deep REM-like Lemming 'blackout', if I may, when a person in the party we'd followed outside for 6 blocks in the wrong direction reached for his car keys. Wait? What the...no....no we didn't.

"Um, you're not walking to the bar?"

'No dude. We're driving, only enough room for us though."

Feeling like a defeated loser, I tucked my tail between my legs but tried to play it off, "Oh that's cool, gotta love some fresh air, you know? You know? Ha...Ha...Ha...."


'Yeah...' Hops in car, drives way.

And cut, Lemming law in full effect...

Skinny = Healthy, Right??

I'm a 6'0'' bean pole and have weighed between 162 and 167 lbs for the past 10 years.

The most shocking part is that 4 of those years were spent chugging light beer in frat house basements. I attribute much of this to my nuclear powered metabolism (paddling frosh during rush week), but also a lot of it is from pure laziness.

You may be asking yourself, 'how can one be too lazy to perform an action upon which one's very life depends?'

Let me explain:

In order to eat, you must get up and retrieve the food. But the work doesn't end there: unwrapping, chewing, swallowing, digesting, bowel movements. Not really my modus operandi.

In the US today, we are facing an obesity epidemic largely resulting from people being too poor/lazy to eat anything that doesn't come as a processed combo meal. I have taken it a step further and just bypassed the whole calorie consumption process completely. Genius right?! I only eat when absolutely necessary, i.e. if I am about to black out from lack of energy. And what do I eat that makes me so "healthy" and skinny? Mostly an array of Poptarts, microwave Easy Mac, or boiled/refrigerated hotdogs.

So to all you lard-asses out there who can't understand why eating 5000 calories of peanut butter, oatmeal, granola, or pretty much anything considered "energy boosting" or "a great pre-workout snack" a day and aren't shedding the pounds, I encourage you to take my approach and stop reaching for any 'fruit' at all!

Sure, your arteries might look like Rosanne Barr's but your outsides will look like Lance Armstrong, and we all know it's what's on the outside that counts. Who the hell wants to be 90 anyways? Wrinkled, can't drive, and basically worthless to society....no thank you.

POSTED BY TS, the original mustache man, a superhuman to the untrained eye

Hey, get off me! I'm soaking wet!

Everyone has that certain someone around them in their life that is a huge drag. Whether it is your significant other, a friend, a friend of a friend who always seems to be around, or maybe it's a family member. Some people, such as myself, refer to these people as "wet blankets". Other names exist such as party pooper, or spoilsport, or, another personal favorite, killjoooyyyy Jenkins.

Alright, fine, I made up the Jenkins part.

Although they come in many different shapes, sizes, and personalities; they all have one characteristic in common. The one reigning characteristic of this person is their amazing ability to grab your good mood and body-slam it.

Whatever the reason this Wet Blanket has for ruining everyone else's time defeats me, but inevitably we're all effected in some way, one time or another. The amazing resolve this WB has to withstand the criticism and hatred directed towards them is quite astounding. These WB types are usually brazen enough to state their disinclination to do something in even the largest of groups.

You and 12 of your closest friends all want to see Avatar is 3D, the only way to see it (some pretty low hanging fruit plot line), but son of a bitch Wet Blanket is ruining everything. Guilt is a word unknown by the common Wet Blanket. Even though this WB may be keeping everyone from seeing the movie they want to see, they feel no remorse whatsoever. A normal human being would cave, as long as their other 11 friends were on board, and see a movie they would rather not in the name of social decency. This WB will go to extreme levels to not see this movie. They may cut themselves or punch you in the face! But most likely, they will make Avatar the worst movie watching experience of all time by their constant kvetching!! How you wish you had just seen Saw VI!

By determining these things or people in our lives that create a mediocre existence, we can better prepare ourselves for the future. My advice on ditching a WB? Lie, cheat, steal, run for the hills - but never let them win. You may bring them back from the dark side one day.....

Quarter Life Crisis: The Best Excuse Ever

Recently I ran across an article about the so-called “Quarter-Life Crisis”(QLC). Shortly thereafter I realized that I had struck gold.

I’m sure you’ve all heard of the Mid-Life Crisis, where depressed, aging, balding, fattening men go out and (depending on the severity of said crisis) buy a convertible (poor, rich, classy), dye their hair, hit the tanning salon, and maybe get some strange. The QLC is a similar existential crisis, but because it happens in your 20’s when you’re likely still poor, it manifests itself differently.

The QLC is basically a 5-year stretch in your twenties that you are allowed to achieve nothing because you’re still trying to “figure it all out”. That means that you don’t have to be working at a “career track” job, you don’t have to get engaged, and you don’t have to stop getting sloppy drunk 2-3 nights a week. It is a license to be a grown-up kid. Think of it as the after party for college.

There are a few things you need to do in order to successfully pass as a QLC sufferer, lucky for us, they’re simple and easy:

When asked about your job, say: “It’s interesting, and I’m learning a lot, but I don’t know if I can really see myself doing it forever”

When asked about further education, say: “I’d like to go to grad-school, but I’m just not sure what I want to do yet. Plus, these days, they’re recommending a 3-5 year break after undergrad.”

When asked about romantic commitment, say: “Of course I’d like to have Thanksgiving with your parents, but I’m still thinking about working on that organic farm in Ibiza in November, so I just can’t say for sure.”

General rule: The more vague you are about the next several years, the better. Use qualifiers like “might”, and “probably”. Make plenty of references to places you’d like to live and things you’d like to do before you have to “settle down”.

So, for those of you that pass the age qualifications (sorry, 29 is the absolute limit), get out there and procrastinate! After all, you’ve got nothing but time.

IVH - Bonus Apropos Second Meaning: QLC = “Que La Chinga”, or, the equivalent of WTF en español.

LMMFAO LOLWTF LTLWDLS

People, people, gather 'round. This is starting to get a little ridiculous. What has happened to our human culture? Our language? Our pride? Apparently, since the beginning of the American culture, starting back to when our country was forming, Americans have always grabbed for that low hanging fruit.

Learn to plant corn? No, no thank you. How about you plant it for us then we'll steal it from you? Oh, after we drive you out of your own land and we need to plant more? We'll just shackle some folks up and put them to work. I'm not saying we've never accomplished anything on our own, of course we have, I love this country, but we've definitely had our moments of LHF and mediocrity.

Don't worry, this post is not that serious - I'm here to talk about gchatting, texting, BBMing, AIM....you catch my drift. Now that we are so easily connected, we are starting to take advantage. Some of you may be wondering: what does LMMFAO mean? LOLWTF - you can probably figure that one out. LTLWDLS - you have got to be fucking kidding me?

LMMFAO Laughing my mother freaking a** off

LOLWTF Laughing out loud (saying) "What the f*ck?"

LTLWDLS Let's twist like we did last summer - you really are kidding me.

I'm not saying Americans are the only ones, but I'd say we definitely started this technological revolution with people like Bill Gates, Bill Joy, and Steven Jobs - or is it Stephen? Whatever. Don't know who those people are? JFGI!!

JUST FUCKIN' GOOGLE IT!

ENOUGH IS ENOUGH! Or is it? We are on the dawn of a new language, a new way of existence, where we never have to even use the english language, just letters and our superior inferring skills. Some people use ebonics, some use cockney rhyming slang, but we've got our own now! Whatever this language is, it's mediocre at best. So embrace, bash it, but at least admit that's some LHF.

L8RG8R, thanks very much from MLFH, GGOH, CUNT - gotta get outta here, see you next time.

New MyLowHangingFruit man!

I would like to introduce the new MLHF icon/mascot!

As you can see, this is the extent of my Illustrator abilities, but I can't be bothered to learn anymore - this little guy is alright?

This is where YOU come in!!! I need a name: Mr. Dingleberry, Poppy Stumps, Ranchero Manchero, whatever! If no one comes up with a good one, then I'll have to put my thinking cap on.

Also - which do you prefer? Strawberry looking one or humanite?

I'm now officially a paying member of 18 gyms, 6 magazines, and countless online clubs.

Ah sweet excitement and inspiration! You come to see me so few many times and so far between each visit!

The inspiration from New Year's resolutions is sweeping the nation: gyms are packed, Muscle and Fitness subscriptions are at an all time high, and health food stores can't stock enough fish oil products (boosts the metabolism after all). Sign me up, sign me up, sign me up.

Dooo dooo dooo dooo, dooo dooo dooo, dooo dooo dooo dooo, doop, doo doo doo doo doo (repeat)

I'll be generous and say that it's Feb. 13th and holy crap, you have a girlfriend or boyfriend because you've been hitting the gym, reading Muscle and Fitness on the shitter, and shoving fish oil tablets up your butt for a month and a half.

By March 15th, you've settled in, had a sig. oth. for about 40 days or so and you know.....you start to let go a little. An extra cookie here, 'oh honey, just one more beer?' there. Did I say 3 pieces of bacon? I meant 4. Wait, 5. You've lost interest in buying toilet paper, what better use than those Muscle and Fitness mags?

I'm getting off topic, although you can look forward to a 'how you know if you've let go as a sig.oth.' post.

June 17th, it's a Monday, and Mint.com just called your fuckin' bluff. You are now officially spending a stupid amount of money each month on various products.

Gym membo: $45.99 (not counting the ghastly $100 "initiation fee" knocked down as a '1 time offer' from $32,000 - really? It's normally $32,000? Why yes, yes it is. Oh yeah, and thanks a fuckin' lot for walking me around so I can look at your love handles as you show me where the dumbbells are, thanks, I couldn't use my own eyes). You are now using the gym less than or equal to 2x a week and rreaaalllyyy getting your money's worth.

Underground Strength Coach Online Membership: remember when you want to be all bad ass and walk around with sand bags, scale buildings, and flip cars? Well I do. I've been paying $12.95 for the past 14 months to be a member of a website I've literally looked at 12 times.

Magazine Subscriptions: no longer do you read these, they just add to the mag-basket than EVERYONE has - don't you deny it! $$ go bye byes!

Fish oil: by now, your fish oil tablets are sticking together and bursting because you left them in your gym bag in the back of your car, which by the way, has been sitting there since May 17th, exactly a month since the last time you visited the gym.

Apparently, canceling memberships is way more difficult than quitting the marching band in high school. "Fuck you Ms. Kozlopolis, the flute is for nerds and sissies. I'm over it." Letters? Proof of address change? SSN? Damnnnnnnnnnn boyyyyyyy, that shit seems like a lotta work.




Another 3 or 4 months drags on, your gut inflating steadily, and your wallet draining in exact correlation with your flabbo stommo - weird.










Fuck it, I'll get to canceling those tomorrow, or next week, or.......whatever.....

MyLowHangingFruit Shopping Tip #1

Wrinkle-Free Dress Shirts

In the world of MyLowHangingFruit, I’m sure we can all agree that clean laundry is a rarity. We all know that denim and t-shirts never actually get dirty (“what, that? It’s a stain. Adds character”). I’m not sure if there is a single article of clothing currently in rotation, aside from boxers*, that I wear only once before washing. I don’t own any regularly worn dry-clean only garments.

There is, however, one common use garment that requires more than a cursory amount of work: dress shirts. I got my first office job about a year ago, and the dress code is business casual. I usually rock khakis, decent shoes, and a button down collared shirt (no tie, there is a God). For the first month or two, I was forced to launder my work clothes at least once a week (!).

For obvious reasons, something had to be done.

That’s when I came across wrinkle-free shirts. And that’s when my life returned to normal. I own seven of them now, and I can honestly say that I only wash them once a month. At most. That equates to about four, eight-hour shifts between cleanings saving me probably a solid hour of work every week.

All this being said, one has to be careful not to push the envelope. I have a white one that, sadly, discolors around the collar after repeated abuse during the warmer months. So if you were looking for more longevity, I’d stick to patterned fabric, which will realistically last another couple of shifts.

The small initial price premium is well worth the reduction in menial work over the lifetime of the shirt.

*Wellllll, Nobody’s perfect.

posted by IVH - I should probably just move back in with my mom, then I wouldn't have these problems

Happy Fuckin' New Year To You Too

Sweet! It's new year's eve! It's time to get crunked up, dance my ass off, and slam my tongue down someone's throat.

But no, first, let's deal with some corporate bullshit! YAY!

New year's eve is the most hyped up party night of the year, but you know what? It always fuckin' sucks. This night is run by a bunch of commercial, thieving, greedy bastards attempting to fit too many people, not enough drinks, and lines for everything into one place; then, charge WAY too much for it.

Oh boy, here you go, it's 9 PM and you and all your friends just finished getting ready. Time to paaaarrrtttaaaayyyyyyy bitches! By this time, you've had 2-4 drinks, depending how much of a booze hound you are.

Time to get a cab, which as we all know, is a huge pain in your whiskey lovin' ass on NYE. Full....full....full....full....YES got one! Of course you get into the poetry writing taxi man's little yellow open mic night. Did I mention he drives slower than my grandmother and has as much road presence as a 4 year old little girl on a pink Barbie bicycle?

Oh well, the cab ride from hell is over - let's fuckin' do this, gonnnnnnaaaa ggeeet mmmyyy sweeeeerrrvvvveeeee onnnnn. So you roll up to the destination, with your pimp walk going - WHAT THE SHIT IS THIS?

_____________________15.mins______________________________________30. mins_______________________45.mins_You, Friend, Friend, Friend__________60.mins_____________________________1 hr 15 mins

45 minutes later....we're in. Well, I guess that wasn't so bad, except my sweet buzz is gone so let's grab a beverage. Oh wait, there's a line for that. 15 minutes go by and you're finally sucking back a watered down vodka soda. By the time you finish that drink, the wait to get a drink is now over 20 minutes. So now it's getting later, you lost your buzz, can't get a drink, and any chance of being drunk by midnight is out the window.

You're pissed off, have half a goddamn hangover, and midnight is quickly approaching - bail now or stick it out?

OUT OF ALCOHOL? Out of alcohol? Really? Dude, screw this, let's go somewhere else - LINE, let's go somewhere else - LINE, then midnight passes...........while you're in a taxi.......let's champagne toast with Ali Baba.

You end up heading home 20 minutes past midnight and SLAM DOWN whatever alcohol you have..................(night over)..........

So, let's see, I spent over $150, spent more time bitching about the situation than "getting crunked up, dancing my ass off, and slamming my tongue down someone's throat", and I STILL WAKE UP WITH A HANGOVER. FML.

The thing about new year's eve and about 98% of its organizer don't give a FLYING FUCK, they are giving a half ass, greedy, low down effort and you're gettin' the shit end of the stick.

Now that sounds like some low ass hangin' fruit to me.

Starbucks Seductress, shorty, what have you drank?