Under-tanned and Underwear.  

Posted by -Slamel-

   I witnessed one of the most peculiar things I have ever seen yesterday. When I say peculiar, I need you to understand that I grew up in a family full of bizarre, so for something to strike me as odd is the real deal.

   I was eating lunch in the fine, fine establishment of Wendy's when I saw a couple sitting and eating together. I, being the nosy-psychology-freak that I am, was inclined to watch them. My delight and reward for choosing to do so would come shortly. They soon decided that it had been far to long since their lips had touched, and with the passion that only a Wendy's Jr. Bacon Cheeseburger could fuel, they leaned towards each other and locked lips.

   Awww. Cute. Wait? What is that?

   She leaned forward for their future nuptial of the lips, and the back of her shirt lifted up, which is a normal and natural occurance. I being the heterosexual male that I am felt my eyes pulled downward. What I saw there boggled my mind.

   Before I let the cat out of the bag, let me share a little bit about Utah. My beloved state of Utah will always be home to me, wherever I go. I love almost everything about here. I am not even one of those individuals who says they love the environment but can barely tolerate the people and only do so for the excellent opportunities for hiking, biking, camping, etc. My main attraction to Utah is the people, but of course the wonderful scenery doesn't hurt.

   The inhabitants of this wonderful state, despite what many may claim, are surprisingly varied. Yeah, there may only be like twelve African Americans, thirty-three middle easterns, etc., but the fact of diversity still remains. Utahn's each have their very distinct mannerisms, fashion, and ways of life.

   I contend that there are few better places to get some good people watching in, than Utah.

   Where am I going with this? Get to the girl and her scandalous moment? Soon. I assure you it will be soon.

   I only bring up Utah and it's magnificent display of the myriad of oddities that I get to enjoy on a daily basis because of some of the bizzare thinking errors I see happening every day. Does this mean that I think I'm smarter than them? Probably. I'm probably smarter than you too, but that's beyond the scope of this little blog.

   Let me just bring up one example, and I promise it will all come full circle to the girl and her tender, loving moment with her beau that so rocked my world. I was walking into the gym, with my best friend, to dominate him in a little game of racquetball. The sun was shining high and it was most likely hot enough to melt him. He is a pale fella, after all. I, being the incredibly beautiful, dark, epitome of masculinity, was unaffected by the blistering heat.

   We saw a guy walking into the tanning salon that neighbors the Gold's Gym that we attend. I thought to myself how absolutely ridiculous this behavior is. We spend all day inside running, only to leave and realize how white we are, and go next door, inside of course, to get some 'sun' to make up for lost time. Why not just...go outside? I suppose that behavior isn't quite idiosyncratic to the valley, or even Utah, but it is pretty idiotic.

   Now, back to the girl and her shirt. I'm not quite sure what I must have done in a past life to deserve this particular honor of witnessing this event. I have to say it sure beats being reincarnated as a butterfly though.

   As she leaned forward for the intimate, fast-food restaurant kiss, and her shirt lifted ever so slightly, I saw not just one very distinct tan line, but three. Multiple swimsuits I suppose? The answers to this mystery will forever elude me, as I contemplate what I saw next.

   Her underwear. She was wearing a thong, to which under almost any circumstance I would say, "No thank you." and be about my business. But this particular gem of a Utah fashionista was wearing said thong over another pair of undergarments.

   What. The. Crap. Is. The. Point. Of. That? My mind is officially boggled, but I'm still willing to laugh at it.

   From where I sit, in my six pairs of underwear, I just think Utah is pretty funny.

LOL <(^^)> BRB TTYL  

Posted by -Slamel-

I was having lunch with a girl recently and offered to go refill her drink. As I picked up her cup and stood to go get the refill she said, "TY". I thought about stabbing her after that.

Don't worry, you won't be seeing my face in the news, at least not for the murder of this young woman, but needless to say I won't be calling (read as:texting) her for another date.

Seriously, is this what the use of the English language has come to? I text. I text a lot. I go through around 7-8 thousand texts a month. I'm even guilty of using the occasional emoticon, acronym, or 'haha'. But I adamantly refuse to make it a common occurance, or worse yet, use it in the spoken word.

If this trend continues I don't know that I can be held responsible for my actions. If my roommate says, out loud, "Lawl, fuh-tah-wuh (FTW=for the win), rah-full-stomp (roflstomp=win so excessively you laugh out loud), or no-buh-duh (NBD=no big deal)" then I may just have to put a pillow over his face while he is sleeping and press. Hard.

Isn't techonology supposed to set us free? Make life easier? While it may do this, the shackles of stupidity are firmly being locked around our wrists and ankles. I received a three page text today, without a single capitalized letter or puncuation mark, and at least three 'haha's or 'LOL's. After wiping the vomit from around my mouth, I struggled to conjure a response that wouldn't show my disgust. Even more difficult, however, was formulating a reply that would fit my audience without resorting to a "zomggg lol".

In order to make my life easier (because, really, it is all about me) I submit that we abolish either text emoticons and acronyms, or the english language and revert back to pictoglyphs scratched on the walls of our abodes.

Sound good to you? Sounds freakin' awesome to me! LOL.

Rapunzel, Your Luxurious Locks Are My Holy Grail.  

Posted by -Slamel-

    For the following I will be telling a tale and making a confession. I seem to be finding myself in a minority. Before you start talking about my ethnicity and the threatening size of my nose, let me be clear. The minority I'm referring to is men who know what a diffuser, crimper, flat iron, and setter are, as well as how to use them.

    You may be asking right now, "Nick, first of all, if your confession is coming out of the closet, this is sure a bizarre way of doing it. I mean we have suspected for years. We love and accept you. (Thank you for that by the way. Your acceptance and understanding is both admirable and appreciated.) Second, what does your confession of homosexuality have to do with anything?" Well, before you go making wild assumptions, let me make a statement and explain. I'm not coming out of the closet, nor will I ever be.

    I just felt that scrap of information is relevant to my message. Besides having knowledge of hair styling accessoriers isn't any gayer than the enjoyment I derive from things like decorating, shopping, watching chick flicks, and treating myself to occasional manicures. Ok that may have not been the best defense I could have constructed. Look...can we just move on? Thank you.

    The reason I know what those items are for, is that your hair is my opiate. Long or short, curly or straight, light or dark, hour-long-styling effort, or feeble-get-rid-of-bedhead attempt, it doesn't matter. Your hair can make me swoon like I just stood up too quickly from the couch. I think I suffer from a tragically terminal case of HOD, or Hair Obsession Disorder. The criteria for diagnosis of said disorder can include, but is not limited to, instantly falling in love with someone because of their hair, and having an unconscious impulse to play with hair. The list could go on. Naturally, I'm sure you understand the seriousness of this affliction.

    I recently saw a very pretty girl with the most astonishingly beautiful hair I have ever seen. This, of course, reduced me to a catatonic state of a drooling, slack-jawed stare, inept in the use of the spoken word. Luckily I managed to control my near overpowering impulse to, as my uncle would say, "run over to talk to her" and therefore avoided demonstrating my incapacitation.

    Before I proceed, that leads me to another note I would like to address. It is an occurance that I have witnessed, here in the valley, frequently, and have had the misfortune to experience a time or two. Let me narrate it for you. Man sees woman. Woman looks pretty. Man compliments woman. Woman is surly and gives man stinkeye. Man wanders away confused. Just because a guy approaches a woman with a simple statement of her excellence does not mean that he must want her number, and has dating her as his motivation.

    So girls, when a guy comes up to you and mentions your hair is pretty, don't immediately give that poor gentleman the "Um, I have a boyfriend you creep!" stinkeye. Each of you know exactly what I'm talking about, and you all know that look could stop the 'running with the bulls' and using it on just one man is downright malicious. Their comment to you, really may have no ulterior motives and the guy just wanted to brighten your day.

    Back to the topic at hand, my addiction to your locks knows no bounds. I appreciate you and your hair, and all you do to make it look so awesome. That's it.

    Oh, and can I have your number?

Pretentious Literary Elitism  

Posted by -Slamel-

    Apparently I have finally experienced the Change. Before you start rejoicing at my ascent through puberty, let me assure you, that has already occurred, at least a week ago. I'm sure of it. The change I am referring to is more metaphysical in nature.

    I'm not sure, even, what served as the catalyst for my miraculous metamorphosis, and perhaps it isn't a sole cataclysmic event that is to blame.The accusation has been leveled, and the gauntlet thrown. I have been dubbed, at least indirectly, as a Pretentious Literary Elitist.

    To some it may not come as a world-shattering shock to think that my ego has inflated enough to earn me the said title. However, like I said, I'm not sure when this development of snobbery happened. I had always just imagined myself as as sci-fi, fantasy, and horror geek. Albeit, one of impeccable discerning tastes, that are most likely superior to yours.

    Now just because your favorite authors have no conception of the architecture needed for an engaging plot, lack the necessary social understanding to make believable and interesting characters, and have, let's be honest, downright hideous pictures of themselves in the 'About the Author' section, there is no reason to believe that I'm being an elitist because my favorite authors are not only incredibly attractive, but masters of their craft. That doesn't mean I am a book snob. Or does it...?

    Have I become the critical emo-music-freak-with-an-attitude equivalent for the world of literature? If so, I won't bother with excuses, denials, or defenses. I suppose I'll simply locate a tweed jacket as soon as possible and revel in my obvious superiority.