August 25, 2006

Shopping is fucking lame

Shopping is so fucking lame. Unless it's for sports cars, season tickets or a new huge rack for your girlfriend, shopping is the just boring.

I'm the worst culinary procrastinator when it comes to having food in my house. I'm such a lazy ass, I'll wait till I'm down to two tortillas, four crappy rice cakes, and a jar of peanut butter before I'll schlep my way toward Von's. I never know what aisles carry what items, plus I turn into a teenager with a credit card.

Yeah, so what I admit it. In the past few months, I've purchased three toy guns, army men, IncrediBalls, squirt guns, a rubber snake to terrify house guests and more than a few of those sticky slimers that roll down the wall when chucked at the closest drywall.

I am Man. Hear me purchase...stupid inane items that usually only children with a paltry allowance and funds from a summer of lawn care entrepreneurship would ever buy.

My common plan of attack usually involves grabbing a cart. Because those little basket things are useless, and I do my best when whisking down the aisles, finding what I need to keep my life near equilibrium.

At Von's, I race my cart with mercurial fluidity, grabbing the various meats and cheeses that tickle my fancy. This usually means shredded cheese for quesadillas and burritos, and a few bags of smoked turkey for post-work sammiches. Though I graduated from college years ago, I still shop and eat like I'm 19. Stop laughing please.

I'm always a sucker for the household cleaning area too. I'm susceptible to any new cleaning product or new fresh-rain scented device I can plug into a wall socket and/or bottle I can spray in my shower even thought I pay for a housekeeper to clean my place twice a month. I am clearly a moron.

I try to avoid the aisle with all the feminine products and adult diapers. That's the guy kryptonite zone. Unfortunately, at one time in our life, every guy has had to do the walk of shame and buy something for his girlfriend or wife.
Buying tampons can neuter a guy pretty quickly. So, to up the testosterone level of your purchase, you have to buy something that's really manly. Like a Mitre saw, or a mountain lion. I settle for beef jerky and a toy hammer that squeaks.

Then gliding down the frozen foods section, I'll buy the mainstay: Pizza and few frozen dinners that never look like the box when I cook it. It just always looks like the creeping crud you'd get in third grade. Four sections of brown, yellow, or green stuff that tastes like brown, yellow and green stuff.

As per usual, I write my initials on the inside of the glass doors, so that everyone knows I was there.

I buy a new shaving kit even though I have four news ones at home. I think this new razor has fourteen vibrating blades that should turn my face to mulch in no time. Sweet.

Last and not nearly the least is the booze section. Unfortunately, my Von's kinda sucks with it's selection. I'd advise going to BevMo in Encinitas. It's like a drinker's toy store. Just bring a credit card, and try not to drool.

For some reason people tend to give me dirty looks when I'm coasting down a certain aisle with a red firefighter hat on, six shooter cap guns strapped to my hips while I tear into a fresh bad of Red Vines. Why can't we have fun shopping too? Being an adult all the time is boring anyway.

So, don't judge me, I'm shopping.

Things I've learned working at a bar...

-Waiting twenty minutes to get into a dive bar is just dumb.

-Always use an open stall when urinating. It only takes one drunken customer who sprinkles your shoe to learn that little gem.

-If someone says something dumb to me when I check their ID, they're statements are going to get increasingly less intelligent with every ensuing cocktail they pour down their throat. This is known at the Shhh-You're-Drooling-On-Yourself Paradigm.

-Seeing your customers away from the bar makes you think, “Who the fuck is having sex with these people?”

-The women's bathroom stinks just as bad as the men's.

-I still feel very fortunate that I get to write a column every week. I think my Mom is bribing my editors.

-Working at a bar doesn't necessarily equate to frequent, random sex. A girlfriend does.

-Roadhouse and Cocktail are the dumbest movies ever. and yet I still watch them.

-Even if you show me your boobs, I'm not giving you a free drink. But the rest of the bar appreciates your attempt.

-Not tipping = Bad karma. And pissed off bartenders.

-Friends and enemies come and go, but homeless guys will always smoke other people's cigarettes.

-Winning a bar fight is like getting free tickets to a Kenny Chesney concert. Even if you win, you're still really lame.

-Barroom intellectuals seem to gather strength and momentum if left to their own devices. It's best to fake a poop cramp and run away.

-My attention span has dwindled to sad proportions while bartending. Watching humans and their nocturnal predilection for booze begs the question of Darwin's sobriety.

-Hooking up in a bar is usually not such a hot idea. More than likely you're just another stop on her drunken carousel.

-It's usually a good idea to stay (somewhat) anonymous when you're out boozing in Encinitas. Having your friends read about your dumb ass can be hard on a fragile ego.

-If you're going to act like an asshole, people know you're full of shit.

Apparently it's quite evident that I've only gleaned a wee bit of wisdom during my tenure as a vodka jockey. Go figure. Then again, it's not like I learned that much in college either.

At least with this situation, my drinks are free...

Finally...and who the fuck took my name?

First off, I wanna know who stole my Doorman Diaries name. Honestly.

Fess up. Tell the truth and I won't hit you in the head with a bacon press. If you're a fucklick and you swiped my name, stand up...and claim it.

Granted, it's not really mine...I think. I do remember through a Ketel One hazed fog that I copyrighted that term....right?