My Last Will and Testament

So, this weekend, while I was at work (a sad fact that three of my weekends the month will be spent at work), my friend Will was installing a tile floor in my house. (I wasn't abusing my friendship. I paid him.)

He left the back door open to bring tiles in the house and walked to the front of the house to get something from his truck. I was in the front and walked in the door to find a pigeon sitting on my sofa in the living room. "Will," I shouted over ad over, not quite sure what to do. Will waked in the door. "I've seen this before," he said, which impressed me and puzzled me at the same time. The bird just eyed us, as collected as could be.

I got a sheet for Will to cover the bird but it escaped a flew to the top of the fridge, temporarily in the living room, while Will layed down the tile. With my Swiffer and a flower print sheet, Will looked like a modern day Gladiator, hoping to snag the bird in my grandmother's sheet. Eventually he got the bird out the front door. It stayed at the front door, for almost an hour trying to get back in.

When I told that story to one of my friends, she said that it was an omen. Someone in the house was going to die. Rather than take any chances, I just thought I'd be prepared:

I, the Chronic Nice Guy, being of sound mind and body that girls don't like in that way, hereby make my last will and testament. Since I am trying to keep m identity a secret, I can't be too specific about what I'm leaving to who, but if I'm leavinign something to you, I hope you figure it out.

To William Joseph Jason Raynovich, I leave my strength to stop the wars, lower the price of bread, and make tulips grow in my garden. (It's better if you know the piece of music it comes from.) Don't give up. Eventually, people will wise up and go to MAVerick Ensemble concerts (www.maverickensemble.com). If not, the world is coming to an end in 2012. Ask Jerry Bruckheimer, I saw the poster today. (BTW, Jerry Bruckheimer, if the world really was coming to an end, why would I want to spend two of my last hours watching another one of your movies?)

To Matt and Matt, I leave you my permission to prank call people as the zombie version of me, not that you need it. You do it anyway. Well. at least for a few prank phone calls you can say, "It was his dying wish that we cal you" and not take the blame for it.

To Slippy, I leave you my desire to make your music videos so you can be famous and stop working as a waiter at Cactus Cantina. I know it is fun to party, but if you actually worked hard and put together a music video, imagine what it would be like to actually party and have real money. (There's a "Making it Rain" joke here that I'm not going even get close to touching)

To the girl I would like to leave something. I would like to leave you something, but then everyone reading this would know I'm leaving something for you and I'd hear all about it. Even if you're not good at receiving gifts like I am, maybe now that I'm fictitiously dead, you'll take whatever it is I would give you. (It's not socks.) You may not even know why I would leave something to you, but in the note it would be clear. It's too bad that I would have to die for you to get that note, but that sort of sums up my life. Also, I would write the note on the back of a Bed Bath and Beyond coupon so you could save 20% on one item.

To Yana (who probably doesn't like this blog entry because I'm talking about being dead and now I've mentioned her in this entry. Well, it's too late! I'm dead!), I leave you my ability to write long and pointless blog entries that really don't accomplish anything other than to waste people's time. Now you're probably thinking to yourself, that's not true. I'm enjoying reading this, or this entry is so infuriating, but you can't really argue that it stopped any wars. I already gave that ability away anyway.

Well, I've gotten to the end of this entry and I'm still not dead. I did have to stop for someone trying to sell me new windows, which is sort of close. Actually, it's more like purgatory.

Six month anniversary ideas

About six months ago (sorry I'm late with this), a friend of mine asked me for advice about what to get for her six month anniversary for her boyfriend. I've been thinking about it and here's what I've been able to come up with so far:

1. The six-month break up t-shirt.

If things are on the rocks nothing says it's over like a t-shirt with the following on it:

I dated (name of person) for six months and all I got was this crappy t-shirt

and on the back...

and a bad case of herpes

or

and a restraining order because somehow I think that calling someone thirty seven times in one night is acceptable

You could also turn it around and put something positive on the back, but nothing says our six months is over like something you could find at one of the souvenir shops at South of the Border.

2. The six month anniversary commemorative plate from the Franklin Mint.

This would probably be somewhat expensive to commission, but nothing says forever like a commemorative plate. Plus it would go well next to the Barack Obama and Dale Earnhardt Jr. plates in your significant other's collection.

3. A six month supply of Brillo pads

Who doesn't need a six month supply of Brillo pads, unless of course you've been stockpilin and hording Brillo pads and keeping them from your significant other. Who knows what other deep dark secrets they've been hiding. Do you really know their favorite breakfast cereal? Or did they just say that to lull you into a false sense of security until one day all of your Boo-berry is missing and now it's Wednesday morning, you're late for work, and because you didn't get that high fructose corn syrup rush, you miss the boss's question and as a result, you lose your job.

4. Shoes

5. A knife collection

If you really love your significant other (and really trust them) and they are into knives, this could be a great gift. Unfortunately, it could also turn on you rather quickly. Items not to buy with this gift: balloon sculptures, life size dolls of yourself

6. Prosthetic limb

This is a good gift, particularly if that special someone is missing an arm or leg. This would also be a good companion gift with a power tool, just in case.

A 3am nonsense post

It is 3:09am. I'm not entirely sure what I am going to write about, but I figured that since it's 3, there is the potential for this to be a really great or really horrible blog entry. This afternoon I thought about writing a blog entry about what positions prominent women world leader would play if they were fantasy football players, but all I sort of figured out was that Margaret Thatcher would be a linebacker and Hillary Clinton would be a halfback. Not real enough to have a fully fleshed out blog entry. (I know, I left that whole "fleshed out" thing just dangling. Go for it, somebody!)

Now I'm sort of feeling the pressure to somehow make this more funny. I started this out thinking that since it's 3, funny situations would naturally come to me, but the truth is that right now, I'm not feeling particularly funny. I sort of feel like Ringo often looks in Beatles pictures, just sort of there without a real clue of what to do or say next. Thankfully, I'm not going to sing any songs about primary colored ocean going vessels, unless someone were to make a kickass song called Blue Aircraft Carrier.

Facebook Protocol

I used to enjoy when someone I hadn't heard from in a long time contact me as a friend on Facebook. "Wow, I haven't see them for a while," I'd think to myself. No, however, I'm getting into the murky area of not friends and strangers who contact me on facebook. Yesterday, someone who I've never met contacted me to be a "friend." I looked at his other "friends" and realized I didn't know any of them. That made me think that someone should probably spell out facebook protocol to people:

1. Before you friend someone on Facebook, you should actually meet them in real life. If you are a bot looking to use my information for telemarketing or identity theft, do it the old fashion way. Get people drunk and get the info out of them that way.

2. Status updates should be interesting, informative, and/or entertaining. They should not consist of: Going to the store. That tells me nothing. Much better: Going to the store after I go into a fight with my wife over anchovies and how we ran out and even though I think that they're gross I'm going out to get them anyway because I'd much rather sleep in bed than on the couch. Also buying bread.

3. You should not ask someone to be in Mafia Wars unless you pay them in real life. Now, I'm not necessarily opposed to Mafia Wars, but I receive about thirty requests a day to take a bribe from a cop, perform a hit, or shake someone down. If the mob was really that desperate that they had to contact me to do that kind of stuff, they'd be in real trouble.

4. The email feature in Facebook should not be used. It doesn't allow you to interface with other email programs. If you are going to email someone you should use their regular email. Otherwise, ou should not necessarily expect an email response. (This one is more of an excuse as to why don't respond to emails via Facebook, but I still think it's valid.

If you have any others feel free to add them. Just don't add people you don't know as friends.

Some sad, depressing thoughts...

If you're like me and it's 1:00 am and you're a chronic nice guy - in bed wide awake and alone, here are some sad, depressing thoughts for you to cry yourself to sleep with...

Although girls claim they like nice guys, funny guys, and smart guys, the number of girls who have been with Albert Einstein, Stephen Hawkins, Don Rickles, and Thomas Aquinas probably equals the number of girls who have been with either of those idiot guys from Saved by the Bell (not Screech).

Screech has probably been with more girls than those guys combined, mostly because he's Screech.

Being a nice guy didn't work out too well for Ghandi, Martin Luther King, or Jesus. Not the same though for Mother Teresa. Lesson - If you're a nice guy, most likely you will be killed by some idiot who can't stand that you are a nice guy (but who girls l will still like more than you). If you're a nice woman, you can live to a nice, old age.

Guys on death row receive letters from women who want to marry them and have sex with them. (Most likely after, the guy on death row would want to chop off their head and put it on their wall like a trophy ala Predator). Nice guys never receive notes from women, and they haven't killed anyone. I other words, the only way for some nice guys to get the interest of a woman is to kill someone (or at least slash their tires).

Hitler had a girl who was willing to follow him to a bunker and kill herself for him ... and he was Hitler!

Which will be the next assertion of people from the "birther" movement who claim Barack Obama wasn't born in the US?

That Cap'n Crunch didn't actually ever serve in the military. His title, bestowed on him by Count Chocula, isn't even a legitimate military rank and he should be removed from cereal boxes. (20%)
The government's health care plan has a provision in it to kill old people. (Wait a minute, I think they already believe this...) (60%)
Transformers 2 was, in fact, a great movie and deserving of an Oscar. (20%)

Buying a House, Part 2

(For those of you waiting to see how my story ends, sorry I have been keeping you waiting this long. I've been dealing with stuff at work and travelled to San Francisco, Las Vegas and Philadelphia in the past month.)

So, when I last wrote, the house was awaiting inspection. For those of you who don't know how a home inspection works, you pay a guy about $500 to show up to the house you made an offer on and poke around, find stuff wrong, and shatter your dreams. I knew the kitchen needed work already when I looked at the home, but then there was the furnace, and the circuit breaker box, and the possible termite damage, and the low levels of toxic Radon in the house. Every time I mentioned these to people, they would say, "Welcome to homeownership." I now sort of understood what it felt like to be a rookie quarterback who was sacked by a 290 pound defensive lineman, who says, "welcome to the NFL," as you are lying on the ground. Then he throws your house on you.

The other thing wrong with the house was the color selection for the rooms. I'm not a fashion guru or have a great sense of style. (I'm a guy.) I was able to see that there were some poor color choices in the rooms. The living room was sea green. The office was turquoise, the second upstairs bedroom was powder blue. The master bedroom was LAVENDER. The downstairs main room was peach. The one downstairs "bedroom" was mustard and the other one was the color of green screens. I sort of liked that aspect of that room. If I decided to buy the house, I could CGI myself into photos in all sorts of places that were now unaffordable to me. The home inspector gave me the inspection binder. (It was over an inch thick.) Yeah. "You've got a fixer upper," he said. "It's a good one though. I'd probably buy it myself."

It took another week of thinking about it before I finally bought the place. It then took about another month to close, which means five different people keep sending legal documents to each other until everyone has lost their own paperwork or just gives up caring. Then they stick you in a room and make you sign about four hundred pages of information, not really explaining any of it to you except that lead paint is bad. I finally owned the house.

Once I closed on the house, I had to travel up to Philadelphia for a meeting. I made it just at the tail end, as it was wrapping up. A few days later, my brother and I went back down to move into the house. That afternoon, we moved in a few items from the storage place. At 9:30pm, the gate wouldn't open at the place anymore. We sort of assessed the situation, we weren't going to be able to get everything before he had to go back home. We ran to Target, where we looked at inflatable mattresses. "This one looks like its the best," my brother said. "and it's cheaper than the other ones." I looked at the mattress. It definitely was the biggest, with not only a faux mattress, but a faux inflatable box spring, too. Presumably the illusion of a box spring gave added support. "Okay," I said let's go."

My brother dropped me off at the house. After pulling the rest of the stuff out of his car and grabbing some food, it was 11pm. "I'm going to back to Philly tonight," he said. I've got a lot of work to do." He backed out of the driveway and left me alone, in the fixer upper with the lavender master bedroom.

I looked on the cover of the inflatable mattress box again. There was a couple lounging on it having a great time (or I would presume so, after all, they were just lounging on an inflatable mattress, but they were smiling. When I lounge on an inflatable mattress it's not fun enough to make me smile, but then again maybe I expect too much out of life). I pulled out the contents of the box. The mattress was big alright. It was going to take a long time to inflate with the electric pump. Only - there was no electric pump, the reason the mattress was so cheap. I looked at the clock on my phone 11:28 - too late for Target. Too late to call my friends and ask them if hey had an inflatable mattress pump. Well, I thought, let's see how far I can get trying to inflate this thing....

Four one and a half hours I attempted to manually bring the mattress to life. I felt like I was taking CPR training and even though the patient with a pattern that give the consumer the feeling that they were sleeping on an actual mattress with coils had flatlined, I kept going for another 87 minutes. I started becoming giddy from inhaling to much latex smell. I looked at the clock - 1:00am and I was making little progress. I laid the inflatable mattress on the floor and tried climbing on it. I was surrounded by billowy pockets of rubber, but beneath me, I still felt the hardwood floor against my back. This was going to be like sleeping on a deflated Macy's parade balloon. My one unpacked light reflected the lavender off the walls to give everything in the room a pale, sickly hue. Well, I thought, at least my bedroom will look good for Easter.