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.