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Archive for the “Humor” Category

Don’t let that title fool you. This isn’t going to be a post about how my body has started falling apart the moment I turned 40 (although it has). This is more of a piece on how something made me happy recently, and it’s ridiculous because I’m old. That something? A new vacuum cleaner.

For a while now, I’ve been thinking about replacing (or at least upgrading) my vacuum cleaner to a new one. My current one was pretty bad ass when I bought it. I know I got it on clearance because a newer model was coming out, but it was a spectacular deal for a damn decent vacuum. I think I paid like $40 for it, when it retailed for like $100. But that was like 10 years ago.

So, last Wednesday, Amazon this Hoover on sale for $65. I checked Camel Camel Camel, this great site that tells you Amazon price history (thanks, James!), to see if it was a good deal for real (and it was, it’s $100 right now), and then I ordered it. Expected delivery was today.

And here’s where the “I am old” part comes in. I actually looked forward to the new vacuum. The reviews were solid, and I know that my current one just doesn’t have the suction it should. I was eager to check it out. So eager, in fact, that every time I heard a stupid truck going by my house today, I went to the door. And when the post man finally drove up, I ran outside like a child eager to open his presents on Christmas day. I must be part ninja because when I came up to the postman’s jeep, I scared him. He goes, “You must be real excited about this Hover.”

“Uh…yeah.” I had nothing. Because his sarcasm was appreciated and pretty spot on. I was unnecessarily excited about a stupid vacuum cleaner.

I took the box, unpacked it, put the vacuum together, and proceeded to put it to the test. Now I vacuum about once a week anyway, and I just vacuumed a few days ago because I had dropped some chips, but holy shit, yeah, I was long overdue for a new one. This sucker showed a noticeable difference to my rug, and it was picking up far too much stuff for a rug that I had just vacuumed a few days prior.

But there’s no reason for being as excited as I was for a stupid vacuum cleaner. I have no excuse for it except I might be 70.

 

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There’s a Yankee Candle outlet down the street from me that I hit up on occasion because not only because of their phenomenal prices, but they always have shit on clearance and nine times out of 10, their candles are on sale for an even better price. And, seriously, I don’t give a shit what anyone says, Yankee Candles are the best.

Aside from needing candles, I also needed a topper thing because if you don’t put a topper thing on your candle when you burn it, it burns faster and sometimes out of whack. The topper equalizes all that. The last one I had broke, but I haven’t seen (a manly, I know, I know) one that would be a suitable replacement for the old (manly) one I had. But I figured since it was close to Halloween, maybe they’d have some darker-themed toppers.

Quick off topic story regarding the trip over:

The drive to the outlets involves me going across the Bay Bridge, and on certain days, they have many if not all of the booths open, so what happens is you have like eight or 10 lanes that need to converge into two. So naturally there’s  a backup. I’m used to it, so it’s no big deal. I’m not a dick about people wanting to get in front of me (unless they are one of the assholes that make zero effort to merge until the last possible minute, screwing up everyone, then fuck you). I’m also pretty assertive when I need to get over and I will drift and drift over until the person lets me in because I have insurance. That happened today.

People were in the jam, going about five miles an hour, merging and such, and I saw an opportunity to get over. So I put on my turn signal and proceeded to start getting over. Of course, as soon as I put on my signal, the cunt behind me started getting up on it so I couldn’t get over. So she thought. I just kept drifting over, not a care in the world. She finally got the hint and put on the breaks and I got in. I glanced in the mirror and saw she was yelling and her boyfriend was yelling, and me? I busted out laughing. Fuck you. Don’t be a dick. To teach her a lesson, I let three more cars in front of me, and I was pleased to see that someone else forced their way in front of her even as she tried to pull the same shit. Ug. Ignorant.

Moving on, I made my way to the outlets and found a SWEET parking spot (the kind that was not only close to the store, but I was able to pull straight on through from the spot behind it so I was nose out, good times). I saw from the outside that the current sale that they had was six large jar candles for $60. I know, right? That’s crazy insane pricing right there. I didn’t need six, though. Just two. And a topper.

I went in and headed straight for the toppers so I could pick one out quick if necessary. Sometimes they have a very limited supply on them, so I wanted to make sure if I saw one, to grab it. I didn’t see any on the shelves, but I found an endcap with Halloween-themed accessories for 65% off. Score! I managed to get a topper and a base for $10 total. That’s insane. The topper isn’t quite as manly as I wanted, but it was Halloween-themed, so that’s cool. I like Halloween.

Then it was time to move onto the candles. I asked the lady how much they were indivdually and she said $13.99. That’s not $10 each if I bought six, but a great price nonetheless (for those that don’t know, they go for like $25 retail). As I was looking for a suitable scent, a saleslady came up to me and said, “Smell this, your boyfriend will love it.”

I busted out laughing. I said, “I don’t have a boyfriend.” I wasn’t even mad. And I kind of felt bad for her because her face kind of fell, like she stepped in it and realized I wasn’t gay. Or I made it super awkward for her by saying, “I  don’t have a boyfriend,” instead of, “I’m not gay,” and she didn’t know what to think. The other lady, looking to cover her, said, “Oh pay her no mind.” I told her I didn’t. It doesn’t bother me what way people think I go. It’s irrelevant.

My friend Karin did bring up the point of, “You were at Yankee Candle, can you blame her?” And she has a point, but my counter is, “Fire, good smells and great for sexy time. Everyone should love candles, bi, gay or straight!”

Karin doesn’t like them. I question who doesn’t like fire because…fire. And fuck it, I like my house smelling good. Especially when I forget to put that Styrofoam thing the chicken came in in its own seperate bag before throwing it away. Candles mask that shit until it dissipates.

After my Yankee Candle experience, I spent the rest of the day watching horror movies. It’s October after all.

   

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There is a spiderweb on the back of my kitchen sink. Not on the bottom, in the cupboard, where no one would notice it. I mean, why would that be an option. It’s right there on top, below the window, going from some glass milk container I have to return to the grocery store for $3 and the bell jar that sits next to it. The spider who occupies the web is just a little guy, something that doesn’t even make much of a blip on the radar my spider fearing ass.

But I let it be. Why? Because I don’t have an ant problem anymore. Well, I do, but it’s cleaning up their tiny little carcasses.

So I texted the following to Joy, my sister, tonight:

There’s a spider that lives just behind my sink. On the top, so I can see the web. But I let it go because it eats all the ants. Either way, I’m kind of trashy.

Her reply:

The spider probably says, “There’s this fat fucker that lives in my house, but I let it go because it leaves food out that draws ants. Either way, I’m kind of trashy.”

For the record, I don’t leave food out.

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I meant to mention…well, who am I kidding. I knew I wasn’t going to mention what else happened Saturday night at the convention because I liked my closer too much and there was no good way to segue into this small but mildly entertaining incident that happened after Deebo had yelled at the unfit mother.

Not too long after he walked away, maybe 15 – 30 minutes, the fire alarm went off and everyone had to go outside. I was sure it was one of the convention attendee jackasses that set it off, some of those people do get a little rowdy, but it turns out it was faulty equipment. I still don’t know if I believe that story.

Anywho, we got to see some firetrucks. I don’t care how old you are, firetrucks are always cool. Here’s a picture so you can relive the experience with me:

Firetruck

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This past weekend was spent at the second Scares That Care convention in Williamsburg, Va. I’ve been to a ton of these conventions at this point, but I always have a good time whenever I go to one, even if I’m not going for the guests. I should clarify that when I say  I don’t necessarily go for the guests, I don’t mean the authors, but that’s another (upcoming) entry. Plus, the fact that a friend of mine generally gets a vendor’s table at these cons makes the decision to go a lot easier because I can hang out in the vendor’s room the majority of the time.

This particular convention is a young one. As mentioned, it was just the second year for it and has yet to build a huge (film) guest list. Don’t get me wrong, Piper Laurie of Carrie and The Hustler (among others) was there, as well as Kim Coats (Tig on Sons of Anarchy), but there wasn’t really anyone else there that I either hadn’t seen or met before, or wow’d me enough to want to meet. Plus it’s really gotten to the point that what these people are charging is fucking ridiculous. Coats was charging $40 for an autograph. That’s insanity. Granted, his character is fantastic on Sons, but that price is not justifiable, especially for a working actor. But if there are people are willing to pay it, I guess he can charge whatever he wants. I’m just patiently (and hopefully) waiting for the day when fans as a whole say “fuck it” and decide they want to stop being raped by the people they admire and that fee comes down to what it used to be when I first started going to cons: $20 for the headliners, $10 – $15 for everyone else.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xFJThMDLYM4

Moving on, me bitching about the price of autographs isn’t the point of this entry, it’s what happened Saturday night, the night Deebo saved the little girl from child slavery.

For those that don’t know, Deebo is the name of the character Tiny “Zeus” Lister played in the Ice Cube-penned comedy Friday (if you haven’t seen that, go watch it now; I’ll wait). He happened to be a guest at this year’s Scares That Care, which I thought was cool (but not $25 for picture-with-him cool). As it goes, Saturday night, a few of us were chilling in the lobby of the hotel, drinking and having a casual time. Deebo strolls up with his lady and takes the couch that was opposite of where we were sitting. (It was set up as such where he was sitting was facing, say, north, and then I guess this thing that holds plants — like a couch table I suppose — on the back of it, then the two chairs where we were sitting facing south.) Basically, we couldn’t really see him but we could here him. And the first thing we heard was, “HOTEL! Can someone clean this up!?!”

That’s right readers, he shouted “HOTEL!” over to the desk that was approximately 15 – 20 feet away, at 12:00 in the morning, to get the attention of the staff so someone would remove the cups and bottle that had collected on coffee table…in the lobby. To the hotel’s credit, two young ladies ran over and collected the garbage. I thought this was a bit douchey. Well, it was, no two ways about it, but what happened some time later more than made up for it.

At some point not too long after The Coffee Table Incident of 2015, a little girl was seen wandering back and forth from the elevator that Deebo and his lady faced and the bar. I didn’t think too much of it other than, “Wow, it’s kind of late for her to be out here.” Deebo clearly had the same thought because when the little girl stopped in front of the elevator the second or third time, we heard a “HOTEL! WHY IS THIS LITTLE GIRL BY HERSELF?”

Then, to no one in particular, “How old is she!?”

To which my friend Zig replied, “10!”

“What time is it!?”

To which I offered, “12:30!”

“HOTEL! WHERE IS THIS 10-YEAR-OLD’S MOTHER! IT’S 12:30 IN THE MORNING!”

A manager ran over to the child and started talking to her, assumedly to find out about her missing parents. As he was doing this, Deebo offered, “You need to go find her mother!”

The manager, clearly nervous and hating his job at this particular moment, made a move to head to the bar that was down the hall.

“Where are you going! Don’t leave that girl alone!” Deebo suggested.

I don’t know what happened then. I think the manager took the girl with him to find the mother. All I remember at this point is Deebo turned his attention to us, where he expressed his (rightful) disbelief. Honestly, what kind of mother let’s her child wander a fucking convention of drunks at 12:30 – 1:00 in the morning. The kid was completely out of eyesight from the mom because apparently she was found down a hallway that was off the main one where we were sitting. And even if the kid was in eyesight, I’m far from a prude, but an 10-year-old 8-year-old (we found out later Zig was two years off) should probably at least be in the room by 12:30. But maybe that’s why I’m not a parent.

Eventually, mom showed up at the elevator with the child. Joy!

“What’s wrong with you?” Pondered Deebo. “Why isn’t that child in her room? Why is she running around the hotel without supervision at 12:30 in the morning? Someone could take her!”

All valid points, to which  the mother-of-the-year said, “Well, it’s her vacation too.”

Uh…yeah. I guess that makes sense, right?

“Child,” Deebo said, “you come to my table tomorrow and I’ll give you THREE pictures. You come see me. Three pictures, any ones you want, and I’ll give them to you.”

That’s a $75 value, y’all. I’m thinking that’s a great deal. Mom wasn’t entirely impressed because she came back with, “We’ll see.”

Deebo did not like that answer. I didn’t actually see the look he gave her from my position, but I sure as fuck felt it.

“That’s it,” he said, “I’m done. I have to leave. I can’t be here. I need to leave. You guys handle this!”

He was talking to us. Luckily for us, I guess, by that point there was nothing to handle. If you’ve ever seen Deebo, you know he can be pretty fucking terrifying when he’s acting. Imagine him mad for real real.

As he was leaving, he said to us, “I love you guys.”

To which I replied, “I LOVE YOU TOO, DEEBO!”

No shame. No apologies.

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