The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

I don't know what it is about this time of year, but people go crazy for college basketball. Pools are put together from work bracket tourneys to friendly competitions to gangsters who will break your thumbs when you don't cover the spread. In the past I have been part of these escapades (as my crooked left thumb will attest). I must admit that normally the thrill one gets from predicting the outcome of a totally meaningless game is unmatched in other areas of sporting activity. It's almost like successfully picking a game somehow makes up for a pathetic personal life, the debt that is slowly asphyxiating me, or that night I 'couldn't quite perform'. Yes, bracketology has indeed become one of the most important sciences our young nation has at its disposal. Unfortunately this year I didn't get the chance to fill out a bracket and that has lead to something I never thought possible: complete disinterest.

I have found that I could care less about who wins or loses. With the exception of hoping Kansas loses asap, Davidson could end up the champs and I wouldn't raise an eyebrow. (Only kidding about the Kansas jab Cronnie. Go Jayhawks! That is, if I cared of course.) Friends and family call me asking if I am watching 'the game'. "Oh, yes, of course" I reply as I turn down the T.V. so they can't hear the theme song to Hanna Montana playing in the background. "Can you believe San Diego just upset UConn?!" "Yeah, I can't believe that guy made that shot that one time. Amazing," as Miley Cyrus belts out "The Best of Both Worlds". I'll tell you, lots of people wrote off Billy Ray after "Achy Breaky Heart", but I always had faith he'd return to the top, even if it was through his budding 15 year old daughter. But I diverge from my point. Simply not filling out a bracket has turned one of the most exciting times of the year into a total snore for me. I'd love to find Doc Brown, hop into his DeLorean, crank that baby up to 88 miles per hour and go back in time to fill out a bracket and see how that one small incident could change my future for good, or for evil. . .

Bitch

So lately things have been pretty depressing in the female department for me. I broke up with my girlfriend, an awesome gal, but I just wasn't feelin' it. I'm not the kind of guy to have a girlfriend just for the sake of having a girlfriend, so I had to break things off. What's more, I recently discovered that a former love interest is engaged. No, not to me, but to another man. One word enters my mind: bitch. This has happened to me approximately four times now. It seems that I am only satisfied with girls who have absolutely no interest in me at all. I must ask: What is not to like? I am freaking hot, with long, luscious locks of hair that I keep shiny and wavy (I spent six bucks on shampoo, which is roughly six times what I usually pay). I think it is true what they say, treat a girl like shit and she'll come back for more, but treat her like a princess and she'll take you for granted and crush you without explaining why. This also leads me to believe that my ex-girlfriend can only be thinking one thing about me: asshole.

Which brings me to my next point: I have given up on finding another gal by myself. I am what the government would call a discouraged dater. I have no hope of finding the right girl for me, so I sit at home, wallowing in self pity and oggling the hotties on the E network. I would make a plea to all those who read this blog, but since that only adds up to about two people, I feel such a plea would be in vain. So here is a big f--- you to all those who are happily involved in a relationship. In the words of Happy Gilmore, "Suck my white ass every girl I have ever wanted!"

St. Patrick's Day

This is a blog that my little brother recently posted. I am speachless. I guess he was born with a writer's genius that I was not blessed with.

St Patricks Day

Ah spring time. The air is warm and the snow is melting, the trees are blooming everything is fine and no one has a care in the world, right? WRONG!!! Along with this wonderful season we also have a terrible vermin among us. This wonderful holiday that we have rapidly approaching upon us called St. Patricks day. There is a dirty beast amongst us at this time, a beast so brutal and in human i dare not look at them. Thats right im talking about the leprechaun. This little demon takes advantage of us as we are partying in our drunken state. The leprechaun will sneak into you underwear drawer and take all of your underwear and throw them all in the dirty clothes hamper. So when you wake up the next morning and shower you cant find any clean underwear. When you are in this situation you cant think of anything to do. And that is when that little jerk gets his satisfaction. My advice to you my friends is to take a pair of clean underwear and put it on top of the fridge. You might be asking yourself why the fridge, well the fridge is much taller than a dirty little leprechaun thus causing him much grief. By the time he can get to the top of the fridge he will have tired himself out and in turn fallen asleep.
By the time you wake up and find that you have no underwear in your drawer, dont fret there is a nice clean pair on top of the fridge.


You're Welcome

So, I finally went to the gym yesterday. It had been so long I felt like Homer Simpson in that episode where he discovers an all night gym, thinks out loud, "All night gyme (gym). What's a gyme?" Then he walks inside and spouts out his realization, "Oh, a gyme!" Anywho, that is how long it's been since I rediscovered my gyme, "Planet Fitness: The Judgment Free Zone". As you can guess it's a gyme for losers like me who are super weak and don't want any muscleheads laughing at how puny we are. It was good to go. I am sore today, which means I had a good workout, right? Let's forget that I was following an old man through all the weight machines and had to make things lighter so I could deal with the reps. I didn't quite embarrass myself to the point of not wanting to go back, so I am planning on another grueling workout today. Hopefully that old man isn't there again. I felt like he was judging me the whole time. . .

A Few Thoughts

Here I am, once again, sitting in the Huntsman Center waiting for another women's basketball game to start. How many of these are there? I lost count. What I am trying to get at is that this place seems to release my most random thoughts into the atmosphere. One of the warmup songs was Brittney Spears. How screwed up is she? Truth be told, she is a wacko, but it didn't help that she was driven to insanity by her fans as well as every member of the media. When her stories reach and claim a whole segment on CNN, you know that things have gotten out of hand. What's more, the paparazzi isn't satisfied with how much of a wreck her life is. They will not be happy until she has killed herself. Heck, I just looked the word 'paparazzi' up on google and a picture of Brittney popped up on the screen. Also, school has pissed me off lately, with the lengthy chapter reading assignments. Don't people get it, no one can concentrate on fifty pages worth of information that must be read each night. Women's basketball, why did I agree to take this job for another year? How is Novak Djokavic feeling fine to play in the Australian Open, but too sick to take part in Davis Cup? Why am I so picky when it comes to girls when I am the definition of a nerd (Harry Potter and The Lord of the Rings are my favorite books)? Why did Dumbledore have to die? Why didn't Gandalf have to die? Why can't I seem to find a decent apartment to live in that doesn't smell weird and have crazies living in the floor above? And if, pray tell, global warming is our environment's biggest threat, why the devil won't it stop snowing?! This is just a small sample of the things that run through my head in the minutes preceding one of the women's basketball games.

He Slipped

As he walked down the icy sidewalk, he murmured to himself, "I'm gonna freakin' slip and kill myself today." This was not a new thought, as it crossed his mind frequently during the snowy wintry months. He continued to walk, eyes on the sidewalk as he made his way carefully to class. The throng of students walking towards him combined with the many behind filled him with a sense of urgency he knew was uncalled for, yet his pace quickened ever so slightly. Then it happened. The sound of a honking horn caused him to look up as he tread over an icy patch on his path. He seemed to move in slow motion as both feet flew high over his head and he landed with a resounding crash. Then he lay motionless. Two strangers stopped and looked over him. "What happened?", one asked the other. "He slipped."

It's been a while

It has been a while. Let's just say that I haven't been in much of a blog writing mood. Dingo made me feel inspired to write again, seeing as he or she actually read one of my posts. So a much deserved shout out to dingo, whoever you are. This post, however, will probably be read by only a few, and enjoyed by even less. So in honor of my sister Jamie, I dedicate this blog to the game of tennis. The Australian Open is in progress as we speak, and I am stoked to have another grand slam event to occupy my short attention span. As always, I am cheering for Mr. Roger Federer. Not because he is the best, not because he is knocking on history's beautiful oak door, not even because I have traveled to the city of his birth, Bale, Switzerland. No, I am cheering for the suisse because of his poise and demeanor on and off the court. Always the gentleman, some of Roger's quotes have let some to believe that he is arrogant and cocky. This is not true in the least. He is simply telling the truth. When he says "I was playing well, no one could've beaten me today" he couldn't be more right! Take his match against James Blake early this morning. Blake played well, he played incredible. Quite possibly one of the greatest matches of his career, and Roger still beat him in straight sets. When a player can consistently play the best players in the world on their best days and not allow them to win one set, he or she has the right to talk in such a way that others might interpret as trash talk. Serena Williams is one of those players. When she is on, there is not a woman on the tour, not her sister, not Justine Henin, who can take her out. However, Serena does not hold herself with half the dignity on the court that Roger Federer shows. Her obnoxious shouts of joy at her opponents mistakes are unsportsmanlike and rude. After a loss, she is quick to site a nagging injury that she neglected to mention before the match. It is never her fault. Federer, on the contrary, has been known to say that he wasn't playing his top game, but never a third factor. If he loses, it is his fault or his opponent's great play, never the fans or an injury or the sun or any number of other cheap excuses. So here is to a great champion, someone with all the virtues and determination that a true champion should have.