Monday, December 26, 2011

A Bear, Part II - Not in Hibernation

   With the Christmas/Hanukkah/Kwanzaa/ whatever else that counts as a holiday experience being over, people have once again begun to retell poorly conceived bear jokes at my expense. In fact, it was only two days ago that was faced with a very public attempt at my humanness. I was going to a dance club, when door security came up to me...

Me: "Do I pay my cover to you?"

Security Guy A: "I'm sorry, we have a 'No Bears Allowed' policy."

Me: "...lolwut?"

   Apparently a friend of mine works security, and had told his co-workers of my arrival. I was eventually asked 'What's with the bear joke?' by Security Guy A, only to answer with the following:

"General tool-iness, good sir. Immense douche-baggery."

   So, in short, I am still not a bear. It is now the season of winter, and I am not hibernating. Bears hibernate. I celebrated the holiday season; name a bear that has done that.


   Dammit.

   Either way, I already dealt with the Yogi Bear thing in my first post (read it) and had already shown how Yogi Bear and I have nothing in common. And since Yogi is the most popular anthropomorphic ursine since Teddy Ruxpin, I can say with confidence that he is the golden standard of who or what is a bear.


   So, what more could be said for the sake of my not bear-hood? Well, how about an abridged version of how this joke came into existence in the first place? Like how I technically made it up?

   Many years ago, in a distant school in Albany, New York, I once told the tale of how everyone should imagine a boring speaker to be their favorite animal. It was a test of people's creativity, and a very humorous idea to think of; Imagine! An anthropomorphic smorgasbord of teachers and professors. The thought amused many, and it was good.

I have the fear that Disney could sue me at any time for this idea.
   One day, I apparently was being exceptionally boring, and one amongst the crowd shouted "BEAR!", and pointed at me. Everyone looked at me intently, as I was attempting to quickly disprove their conjecture.

"I am no bear. You have no proof." said I. But it was too late. The crowd had glazed over with irrational thinking, to the point where even the most persuasive lawyer could not change their minds.



   And so it was, without proof, reason, nor legal counselling, the public sees me as a bear.


   No! Not THAT kind of bear!

  Yes, that bear.

   But it's not true. I am not a bear. And I am yet to have a really convincing argument in favor of my bear-hood. So to you, the general bear-obsessed public, screw yourselves, and realize that I don't live in the woods. I am Adam Lopez, not a bear.

...Dammit.

Thursday, December 15, 2011

Good at Gift Giving - A Holiday Shoppers Guide.

   As I stated in my last post, this Holiday season has been particularly brutal for me. In fact, I'd go as far to say that the only thing that I own that resembles a holiday spirit is the gin and tonic sitting on my shelf/work drawer/pocket flask/behind the computer.

Gin usually tastes like a Christmas tree. Especially after the third or fourth.
   That said, I still have enough guilt built into me to make me have to buy presents for friends and family. With that, allow me a final gulp of liquid Christmas tree (that's gin, in case you didn't read the caption) and I will layout a fool proof play on how to buy for loved ones.

<Gulp!>



   With the need to be both somewhat altruistic and impressive to your family - mostly because you didn't remember that one sibling's birthday - you need to take great care in learning the interests of your family members. This will prove to be helpful, even beyond the gift-giving holiday, because then you can constantly buy them the same thing for any occasion.  

Christmas gift for the sister Lopez, 12 years running.
   But, on the off chance that you feel like being creative, or perhaps your brother beat you to the sock punch, always remember that your family members used to be people. There was a time where they went out, and did fun things, like ice skate, or listen to music, or even showered. I would recommend buying the family member that was the least responsible something that will remind them that they once were fun, but are now just a husk of what they once were. A husk with a job and/or child(ren). Remember though, try to have the gift be heart-felt - it will make other family members have to guess whether they are crying out of sadness of their forlorn days, or because they are actually touched by your gift.

   Well said, Mr. Hanks.

   Perhaps you have a friend or family member that is more into technology, or other expensive-therefore-obscure interest. The best present for them would be a gadget they already have, but from a different brand or company. This strategy is can work out in multiple ways: one way is that your friend/family member is a jerk, and will just end up returning the gift since you accidentally left the receipt taped to the device. Then they will receive the money, which is probably the most useful gift of all.


   Because family togetherness doesn't pay the bills.

   Another possible scenario is that your friend/family member isn't a jerk, but can be very neglectful of things at times. If you can ensure that the gadget that they are ultimately going to give them is something you would like as well, then all you have to do is wait about 3 weeks, and then ask to borrow that 'thing I gave you for Christmas.' With any luck, they'll just say keep it for as long as you want, and you'll have your own gift - which will probably be still in the package, meaning it's still in working condition.

She received the same present 4 Christmases in a row, and yet she's still surprised.
   Of course, if you are cheap, almost considerate, and good with your hands, you could always make your gift recipient something. I recommend following the same kind of thinking used above when making something though; that way you could have a new desk instead of your schmuck of a brother who's just going to clutter it anyway. Or, for more entertaining purposes, make something for you gift recipient and be bad with your hands - that way, you will either be pleasantly surprised at your handiwork, or you will be told to just get them a card with a lotto ticket in it (great advice for the last minute altruist).


Both for comfort and for the environmentally conscious. Also, it's better then a clay ashtray - use that argument to show that you are at least thinking outside of the first-grade art class box.

   Now, if you are the silly few that still get married and are in the mood to have that marriage last a while still, holiday gift giving can be tricky. It is a time to show your special someone that you are thinking of them, in hopes that your gift will distract them until Valentine's Day, when you invaribly think about them again. For this situation a I recommend a shaking things up. First, a bottle of almost fine wine, bought either off the internet, or the corner store a few blocks down. That should lighten the mood of the gift giving process, if not just make it more forgetful.

Nothing says 'holidays' like boozing. That said...


<Gulp!>


   Once you've successfully drunk yourselves into a stu<hic!>por, or simply put the wine down for a ch<hic!>ange, you can begin the giffting. As I said, shake it up a bit this year, and have a little bit of role-reversal. Get your significant other the thing you would like the most; if you would like a power drill, give him/her/it a power drill; if you'd like a sexy santa's helper themed lingerie, give it/her/him that instead. It will either be a great laugh, a learning experience, or the reason you can't be in the same room as your significant other anymore. Either way, a good i<hic!>dea.

   I hope that this advice can help you in your holiday shopping endave... indov... thing. Now, go out there, get some liquid pine tree, and make the best damn macaroni portrait ever - your dad will love it. As for myself, there's a box of wine with a bow and my name of it.

Sunday, December 4, 2011

Surviving the Holdays

   I'm back readers, and have become more powerful then you could ever imagine. By more powerful, however, I more sincerely mean fatter. I've only recently awakened out of my Thanksgiving food/tryptophan coma - which came directly after my Halloween candy cesspool experience - and am now in time to discuss the rest of the holiday season. And how I'm totally incapable of enjoying most of it. (Cue 'oh, he's anti Christmas' comments (if any comments))

   Mostly because I hate socks, and getting them.

   Besides that though, I cannot possibly enjoy the holiday season because of how not prepared or properly geared for it. First in the list of grievances is how vomit-inducingly expensive everything has become. I'm genuinely stuck between being a responsible adult and paying my rent and feeding myself, or being a good, seasonally altruistic person and buy a present for one or five of my family members. And that's still excluding any friends I should buy for. Honestly, having to decide between a macaroni art portrait or eating the macaroni should never be a actual question. Anywhere.

Mostly because none of my friends are very fond of Rosie O'Donnell.

   The other thing is the terrible Christmas music. Jingle Bells and Deck the Halls haven't exactly been at the forefront of musical innovation since... well, since their invention. The Trans-Siberian Orchestra has since been the greatest thing to ever happen to Christmas, and even they have become stale. All I want for Christmas is not another replay of Mariah Carey's voice in the grocery store. Then again, there are those musicians I'm glad don't have a Christmas album.

   Good thing I have a Christmas album.

Oh. Nevermind. Apparently I don't have one, this guy does. Son of a Bitch.

   Lastly, is the food. While I am nothing but enthused about stuffing my face to the point of public embarrassment, the holiday season is the worst time to be eating vast sums of food. Between the dramatic changes in weather, the gaining an hour of sleep, and the sun being completely set by pretty much noon, eating this -

Will usually lead to this:

And last time I checked, I had to go to work. Therefore, I become a groggy, cranky, unbearable thing come Christmas time.


I think there's a pattern here.

   Well, whether you agree with me or not on the matter of Christmas, I do wish other people a good holiday. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go decorate a conifer tree with gaudy lights, call it a miracle, and then go get slap-happy tipsy off Egg Nog.

Saturday, October 22, 2011

Enthused by Halloween

   Anyone that knows me know that I thoroughly enjoy the holiday of Halloween. There's little to dislike about it really; free candy; the ability to scare the elderly out of the their colostomy bags, only to take their candy some more; eating candy until you get sick; continuing to eat candy while sick; have your parent(s) question whether or not that Mary Jane had a razor in it or not.

Ah, yes, the murder weapon of choice - the razor-induced Mary Jane. It only sounds like drugs, but can kill like them too! (great for kids)

   Beyond the candy however, there is other things to look forward to. This being America, you are ensured to see at least a few hundred, if not thousand houses egged, TP'd, or otherwise hilariously vandalized by douchey children in shitty ghost costumes.

"I'mma throw this rock through their window. Trick or treat, mother fuckers."
   And still further beyond this entertaining, if not childish, attempt at guerrilla warfare over candy, there's a few things about Halloween that I truly am not excited about. 

   The first thing is probably this guy:


   In case you don't know, that is Tim Burton. Now before there may - or may not (I don't know who reads this thing) - be a flood of comments going 'rar rar, Burton is teh g0d, lololol!', this is not me bashing him. I think he's a cool dude, with pretty okay art work-ish like things, and concepts. However, one piece of his single-handedly brought out the most ridiculous of a fairly ridiculous, yet self-aware holiday:


   This film has changed everything about Halloween forever. Instead of being based on the receiving of candy or the oddly Irish-English festival-holiday-party, this movie has raised the bar for Halloween in the minds of every kid that mildly remembers the 90s. Now, I'm all about raising bars and all, but the following this film has totally made much of the holiday into a silly expression of one's gothiness (that's totally a word). Besides, it's not even scary.

All this guy is, is a fat, dice loving nerd in a strange, burlap onesie. And honestly, is that the kind of thing you want representing the scary that is Halloween?

   Besides, they make Halloween into a greedy holiday. Good ol' Jack Skellington tries to take Christmas in the name of Halloween. And while the candy is good, the lack of Christmas would take away all sorts of presents, baked goods, presents, time spent with family, presents, caroling, and especially presents. That is nothing but a crime. With that, I say bullocks to your nightmare, Mr. Burton; I want a respectable, non-thieving Halloween.

   Another thing that makes me slightly less then pleased with Halloween is how abused it is by the college-aged adults. As a note, I will not be going trick-or-treating, however, I will be partying to celebrate anyway. However, when I see adults going trick-or-treating in their totally not creative costumes, it just bothers me. It's like blasphemy to the Halloween Deity.

   No, not that stupid thing. 

   More bothersome is the kind of costumes that adults do where. Most of them are completely unoriginal, if not just plain stupid. Especially the women. For example:



Yep. Totally scary.

   Now, people dressing up stupid isn't a new thing (see 'Fan of the 80s' post), but dammit, unless you live in Miami, or L.A. or the freakin' sun, there's a fair chance it's going to be cold come Halloween night. Men - bring a jacket, and also don't be a penis wrinkle because you're in costume. It is not cool. Women - It is cold. If you wear a super slutty costume and roam the streets in search of candy/dick, and complain about the cold, it is your own fault. Also, not all of your asses are actually attractive.


Pray she doesn't go as the sexy nurse.

   In short, I do hope that everyone has a great Halloween, and do not abuse the great holiday that has been given to us.


   If you don't, this guy will dress up as Candle Jack and take you away, never to come back.

Sunday, September 4, 2011

A Convicted Felon - I did NOT key Baxter!

   Last night, upon a very lonely walk home, I came under a very scary kind of feeling. That awkward, wish-I-had-eyes-in-the-back-of-my-head feeling. I felt like I was being followed. It wasn't a comfortable feeling.


   Like above, only less cartoony and more like possibly getting raped.

   I did what any safety-loving pedestrian at midnight would do; I began to walk faster. My peripherals were reacting crazily, keeping an eye out for suspicious movement or threatening persons. My vision had increased into a full one-hundred and ninety degree arc, giving me a fighting chance if anything were to try and jump at me. I kept my pace, feeling my already overworked and under-rested legs burn with the fast walk. Then, the sound came.



   Indeed, that was my first reaction. But replace adorable-ness with a near-miss bowel movement.

   The sound I heard was the usual sound one hears when walking; the light, seemingly non-threatening pitter-patter of footsteps and shoe soles. An in tandem clacking of someone at least twenty feet behind me. I kept my pace still and even tried to go faster. Who or whatever it was, it proved that it was determined to catch up to me.


   This is what I assumed my future would hold.

   Sure enough, the sound became clearer and clearer, and their presence more so. Then - a burst of noise! the sound of denim scratching on itself as legs moved the material back and forth rapidly. The air felt bothered as the person only three feet behind me makes a run towards me. I felt myself react, mostly on instinct. I threw my right arm out towards him, with my keys in between my knuckles in my left. He pounced, but so did I.


   Similar, but instead of adorable, more like two grown men about to hit pavement.

   The last breathes he utter easily were "hey ma-" as I was now on top of the man, my left hand wolverine style at his neck, the key between my knuckles gently poking at his throat.


   Kind of like this, only more key and less rape-looking.

    "Who are you?!" I yelled, inadvertently spitting on him. "What do you want from me?!"

    He obviously wasn't going to talk. I jabbed the key more in his throat, growling threateningly at him.

   "Are you Baxter? Did Ronnie send you? This is Bull! I told him I'll have his money for the horse in a week, the impatient bastard!"

   Baxter looked back at me, with what I assume was a 'I-am-pissing-myself' look.

   "You go tell Ronnie that if he doesn't get off my ass, he'll what's coming to him! For example!"

    I lifted my key-hand jabbed it at Baxter's chest, causing him to both bleed from a fairly deep cut and scream because of a fairly deep cut at the same time. From there, I picked myself up off of him, feeling proud of the excellent keying I had done, gently kicked him in the head as a sign to move along. I promptly made way to whichever couch I was sleeping on that night (being homeless and all).

   The next morning, I read in the newspaper that some Kyle person was attacked via key. Guess I didn't key Baxter.


   Stay tuned for next week's blog: Things I am Not - Not going to jail for assault.


(this is totally a work of fiction with a side order of truth.)

Thursday, September 1, 2011

The Opposite of Homeless (Settled)

   Hello my few but hopefully loyal readers! For the past ___ months, I hope you all had a fair chance to read up on everything I have written. If you haven't, do so now - I promise it's all quite entertaining.

So... Much... Reading...

   Now that you are caught up, I should probably catch you up on what exactly I've been up to, and what I am no longer being. If the title of this post has you confused, I am rather homeless.


   Destitute.

   Alone.


   But, thankfully not addicted to as much crack as that guy.

   Things on the open road have been certainly interesting; I live and work by the sun's light, and rest from my tiring day of toil and travel. But mostly I couch surf, and it really hasn't been that bad.

Hell yeah to couch surfing.
  Besides that, I am in search for employment, good food that I can legitimately pay for, and possibly even love. Especially when that love can offer both employment and food - and no, I will not become a prostitute, because I wouldn't never want to 'service' a client that would pay me in sandwiches.


   Yeah, not the kind of payment I want to receive for my 'talents.'

   Despite all of these obstacles, I have finally found both time and motivation to continue the blogging, and so I bring to you, what I hope is good, chuckle-worthy writing.

   That said, anyone know of a good writing job anywhere? Me promise i writes egnlish good.

Friday, May 13, 2011

In New York State, Part Four - Man are My Arms Tired

   To you, my loyal readers, you my know that I have returned to the humble and excitable state of New York. My adventure to the west coast to see the other side of the American world has finally come to a close. Besides that, I'm getting a college degree in the morning, so my summations of my trip will be given in a different format then usual.

   And no, it isn't a format involving a red track suit and interpretive dance - just a list.

   The California Ass- This thing is quite a physical anomaly of the human condition. For some reason, unsolved by science, the west coast has what I believe to be the statistically highest sum of people that have a sweet ass. not too little, but not to... not to...


   Exactly. Instead, it is just perfectly shaped. The thing about is, is that it wasn't just a woman thing either - it was everyone. Literally everyone LA either had a fake enough ass to make it appear sweet, or just had a really well put together rump. It was like some sort of genetic mutation to the people of the city - but instead of giving superpowers or a Quatto-like growth coming of the face, it was just a nice ass.


   Thank God for BIG favors.

   Excellent Sunsets - Now there are glorious sunsets in many parts of the world, but I must that Los Angeles definitely has one of the most unique ones. Too bad it's all thanks to the large amount of smog pollution. Oh well, it's still really nice to see.


   Keep it up boys, my date wants to see the orangiest, pinkiest, purpls-ish-est twilight sky ever!

   A Standard Sum of Snow - Now, I know what you're thinking; "Derp derp, it's hawt there, there can be snowz, stoopid." And while I fairly certain winter as a season is shot at on sight in LA, there are high mountains all over the place, which are actually awesome for snowboarding and skiing. So, you could literally spend and entire day on a frosty mountain top, then spend the evening beach side if done properly.


   Oh, so this isn't just some sort of fan service. That said, Californians always know it will snow on the mountains, and never in the city. Thus telling nature to effectively screw itself.


   Oh yeah, they do have those. Well, at least it's not snow.


   Oh bugger.

   A Reasonable Language Barrier - Not surprisingly, one out of every one person speaks some form of actual Spanish, if not only Spanish. Making a rather uni-lingual being, such as myself, quite the gringo. However, it is a language barrier that makes sense. If you only speak English, you need to learn Spanish to do stuff, and vice versa. However, it is observably not the same in New York; there is this weird, all equally bastardizing versions of American English having a grand old time disliking and confusion everyone and everything around them. I'd go as far to say that it's the reason the Boston Red Sox and New York Yankees hate each other.

"'Pahk tha cah,in my mah?'  Tawk wright, ya gross Bawston  Bastad!"
   Dumber things have started over more serious misinterpretations.

   Well, I'll leave this chapter of my not being in New York closed for tonight. I am in the home state, at least for now. And I must ultimately thank it, for by the time many of you read this, a New York state accredited college will give me a sheet of paper saying I'm allowed to sculpt young minds.


   High Five State! Booya!