A Mall Carol

The Mall. You will never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy. It's not a fun place to be. I hate it. Especially during the "Holiday Season." I never understood why the Holiday Season starts on Nov. 1st. That new Jim Carrey movie, A Christmas Carol, came out two weekends ago. Can we at least get through Thanksgiving before we're reminded that we have no money to spend on gifts this year?

I don't tend to go to the mall unless I deem it necessary. Necessary is when my clothes start to fall apart. Usually I let my jeans get to the point where it looks like I just fought a pack of rabid raccoons. I figured this time I wouldn't let it get to that point.

Holiday parking at a mall is a serious pain in the ass. True there will always be a few available parking spaces in the distant horizon, but who wants to walk 200 yards to get to the entrance? I sure didn't want to walk that far. This is America. Instead I drove up and down the parking lanes looking like Pac-Man. Eventually I gave in and parked far away and began my Moses-like exodus to the mall entrance.

Once inside, it was like a mosh pit full of people. It's the only place besides a school, where you will find both Raiders fans and emos in the same enclosure. You'll also see kids frolicking about, while you wonder where their parents are, and old people moving around lethargically, while you wonder how they got there and how they are getting out.

I'm not sure anyone enjoys the mall. I saw a child on one of those quarter rides looking painfully disgusted. Me and her made eye contact and I could feel her pain. I didn't want to be there either. But where else can you have the convenience of store options within walking distance?

I feel so out of place at a mall. I seem to be moving twice as fast as anyone else. Like some kind of olympic prodigy. **I guess its the fact that I try to avoid people as much as possible.**

Once I bought what I needed, I suddenly became Charlie with the Golden Ticket and I needed to return to Grandpa Joe. No one was going to stop me from getting home. Thats what I said before I saw her.

As I was power-walking my way back like a pregnant woman at a park, I saw this girl. She was incredibly attractive and was looking in my direction. **My first instinct was to walk around her to completely avoid any conversation. But her eyes were so inviting. Honestly if she was ugly like everyone else in the mall, I would have gone around. This girl was a diamond in the rough. As I got closer I saw her eyes light up a bit and she did the hair tucking behind the ear move. Suddenly the mall didn't seem so bad anymore. I didn't know what to say, but I knew I had to say something due to the constant eye contact. I never get myself into situations like this. Fortunately for me she spoke first...






"Do you have AT&T service?"

I hate the mall. I also hate AT&T prostitutes that stand 10 feet outside their kiosk.

What the Bloody Hell?

This is not a rebuttal. This is merely a response. Before you continue you may want to read this fantastic blog: What Is Going On Down There?

Men will NEVER "get it".

(WARNING: Graphic subject matter and tons of lame movie and tv references. I'm actually challenging myself to how many I can do.)

That statement is partially true. Though the sexual prowess women seem to feel during that time of the month is equal to every single day a guy wakes up in the morning. It's fun and exciting to witness a female feel exactly how we do, but like an M. Night shyamalan movie, there's a twist. To achieve probably the best sex ever, we have to chance an occurrence that might leave the room looking like a crime scene only Dexter would understand. Yes, like a Daniel Day-Lewis movie...There Will Be Blood, and I don't want a damn milkshake.

Now for those of you that know me, we're going to have to go way back in time. We're going to have to hop in that DeLorean and hit 88 mph. There once was a time when I was a typical guy and dated or something close to that. Yes, it's hard to believe. During those years I did notice that there was a correlation to women's friskiness and their visit from Aunt Flow. What kind of sick joke is that?

I once was influenced through a lot of making out and foreplay to do the forbidden deed. Besides, I was young and didn't know what to expect. I was told the-soon-to-be-common, "its my last day." So I figured it should be fine and wouldn't be like that elevator scene in The Shining.


Long story short, (by long story I mean 10 minutes) I was traumatized. Not during the evil deed, but afterwards. How did I succumb (pun intended) to this? It looked like I had a murder weapon attached to me. Why did this have to happen? I vowed never to do that again. Someone once suggested oral. Are you serious? I'm sorry I'm not Edward Cullen and this isn't Twilight. Maybe a vampire would be okay with that. Not I.

It's just not fair.

Who Are You, and How Do You Know My Name?

Awkward moments happen. Its a fact. We are never ready for it; never prepared. They spring up out of the blue and distort our thoughts and actions. I believe thats what makes it awkward. We revert to our animalistic instincts and react without conscious thought. Its only after the moment has happen, do our minds reflect on what just happened. Then the feeling of either embarassment, guilt, or shame crowd over our minds, depending on the situation. I, being an awkward person in general, probaby add to these moments.

I went to the bank recently to deposit a check and withdrawal some money. I stood in line and filled out the necessary form for such a transaction. I got to the point where I was next in line and a bank teller flashed that little light. Like a moth, I went toward the light. As I strutted to the bank teller, I heard a woman's voice out of nowhere say, "Jason! Hey! How are you?" I had my mind on my money and my money on my mind so it took a couple of seconds for my brain to realize someone said my name. When I made the correlation that my name is Jason, I instantly turned to the direction of the woman and said, "Pretty good, thanks." I said it without even looking at her. As I uttered that generic response, I made eye contact with her.

WHO THE HELL IS SHE?

She was an employee of the bank. She was sitting at a desk on the other side of the building, perhaps 10 yards away. This happened during the day, so I didn't have my glasses on. I felt so helpless like Mr. Magoo. I didn't have a single clue as to who that was. I saw she was with a customer so I acted as if I didn't want to interrupt her so I continued to the bank teller.

Now this is when I started to over think. Who was she? She doesn't even look faintly familiar. I began to play detetective and thought about high school, elementary school and past jobs. Nothing rang a bell. Every memory came to a dead end. It was like watching the first half of a Forensic Files episode. At that point I began to feel like I was rude to her by answering her and walking off. I made myself believe that she was staring at my back the whole time.

Of course the bank teller was having a computer issue and needed to go get help. I was annoyed with the fact that I didn't know who this woman was. I slowly turned to look at her. I could see her talking to a customer. I could also hear that she was speaking Spanish. A clue? Not really. Then she noticed me looking at her. Oh boy. I gave a smile and luckily my bank teller came back so I was able to turn around for a reason. I heard a co-worker call out to a "Maria." Was that the woman's name? I couldn't look again. I just wanted to leave.

The Bank Teller asked me how I wanted my cash. I said hundreds. Yes, I'm big pimpin'. Oh, to his surprise! He doesnt have hundred dollar bills anymore. It was time for him to leave me alone with Maria again. She didn't have her customer anymore, but a co-worker was over at her desk, talking to her. I was afraid she might start a conversation with me once the co-worker left. I needed to to avoid the dreaded I'm-not-sure-who-you-are conversation. I feel like its demeaning to a person. So instead I totally brush them off, ignore them and treat them as if they have leprosy.

As soon is I received my money I dashed out of there. Will I ever see Maria again? Probably not, but she will live forever in my blog.

The Day That Music Cried

Things have been peaceful at my apartment complex. Infant Devil Baby has been hibernating in the cold weather. It has been quiet and relaxing. At the time, things were good, but much like the English Proverb says; "All good things must come to an end."

Last night I was eating my dinner and watching the Lakers game. Such a good game. As my eyes feasted on a close NBA game going into overtime, my ears were distracted by the sound of a man yelling. I figured my neighbors were having a domestic dispute and the guy was just letting off some steam. I continued to watch the game and eat my dinner. Focusing on the game, I didn't realize that the yelling didn't stop. The guy was still yelling.

The game was over so I turned off my TV. I sat there in silence and listened. Suddenly it was clear to me what was really going on. I couldn't believe it. There wasn't a domestic dispute. There wasn't even an argument or discussion going on. What was going on you ask? What was going on was whatever you get when you mix a tone deaf singer with Beatles Rockband.

They say the tragic night when Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens and The Big Bopper died in a plane crash is The Day That Music Died. Yesterday was The Day That Music Cried. My neighbor (not the the owners of IDB) seems to think that yelling and singing are one and the same. The domestic dispute I thought I was hearing was actually his rendition of Eight Days A Week. I couldn't hear the music from his TV, but I sure could hear him. I enjoy The Beatles' music and I'm all about having fun, but c'mon!


It was pretty damn funny for the first half-hour. By 10:30pm it became obnoxious. There's only so much bad singing a person can take. Though I couldn't help from laughing at someone screaming Here Comes The Sun. Ugh, George Harrison is turning in his grave.