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.

My Neighbor Had Satan's Baby

Roman Polanksi, (yes that director that raped the 13 year old) directed a movie in 1968 titled Rosemary's Baby. It's a story of a woman who is drugged and is set up by an occult to be impregnated by Satan himself. I think this has happened to my new neighbor.

When I first moved into my apartment, I had some old creepy guy who I believed to be a serial killer. Actually I still think he is. I'd walk pass his apartment and I'd see him sitting in a lawn chair watching a small television. Not so spectacular except for the fact that was ALL he had in his apartment. A lawn chair and a small tv on the floor. He was quiet and to himself. He made me feel uneasy, but now I miss him so much.

Old Creepy Guy moved out (maybe arrested for murders), which probably took 5 minutes to do. It all happened while I was at work because I came home one day and the apartment maintenance crew was going through the newly vacant apartment. Soon after a couple in their mid 30s moved in, and with them, a newborn baby. Infant Devil Baby.

IDB was cute at first. Yes I said cute. He/She..IT...would cry ever so softly. It's little lungs doing what they could. That was about 3 months ago. Now, the little thing has become a tenor. It's unearthly, violent cries come up in the most inopportune time. Seriously, it sounds like a cat fighting mixed with a velociraptor from the Jurassic Park franchise. I think IDB is nocturnal too because it only cries in the middle of the night. That makes sleeping difficult. I don't know if its some kind of human instinct thing, but hearing a baby cry makes me alert and I hate it.

What I want to know is if it's normal for a baby to cry for over an hour straight. I'm no expert but doesn't that mean something is wrong? Maybe it's horns are coming out. That could be it. I imagine that would hurt a lot.

Urinal Etiquette

No, I don't truly have a list of Man Rules. Though if I did, I believe that Urinal Etiquette would be in the top ten. Women won't understand this fully. You ladies have your restroom cubicles, also known as stalls, so that you may squeeze your lemons in peace. I can understand why you girls go to restrooms together and conversate. With men, its a completely different story. I feel like I need to express this, because there was a recent incident of a Man Rule foul.

The Different Types of Men's Restrooms:

First, there's the User Friendly Restroom. Thats the type that has the urinals spread apart with dividers in between so George Michael can't take a peek at Captain Winky. These restrooms are rare. Maybe not rare to everyone, but rare to me because I don't go to high-class places often. These restrooms don't really require much etiquette.

Second, theres the Barnyard Restroom. This is where urinals are non-existent. Yes, instead we have to leak our lizards into what is basically a metallic trough. An elongated bucket which is tilted ever so slightly so that the urine mixes together to drain away to the far corner. No water. No flushing. Usually places that have these are sport stadiums/arenas and lame ass bars. The etiquette here is to give at least 20 inches space to the person next to you. Like Egon said in Ghostbusters, "Don't cross the streams." Also, find something on the blank wall in front of you. Stare at it. I don't care what it is. A crack, a hole...peeling paint, whatever it is, that is your focus point. You may talk, but you cannot turn to look at the person you are speaking to.

The third type of restroom is the Mosh Pit Restroom. This is the type of restroom where they cram as many urinals as possible onto a wall. This is where everyone is cramped up. Same exact rules apply, though the crossing of the streams shouldn't be an issue.

The Man Rule Foul:

I was in a Mosh Pit Restroom at Angels Stadium. It's already late in the game and the Angels were down big. You could see which of the Angels fans were drunk because they were still happy. I went to urinate because I have a habit of doing so every few hours.

As I'm standing at my urinal, taking care of business, an older man appears next to the urinal to my left. I can see out of the corner of my eye, as I am staring at my focal point. I noticed that he spit into his urinal. A prime example of one who is drunk. Right away he turned to me and started a discussion about the game. I ignored him, hoping he'd turn away. I guess while he was staring in my direction, he noticed the person to my right had one of those flashing light beer cups. He seemed so abnormally excited by that. He honestly said "Whoa! A flashing beer!" and he leaned in to get a better look. Which means he got really close to me. Luckily I was done with my business and I was able to leave. He broke two rules of Urinal Etiquette and that is unacceptable. Even while drunk.

When Jason Met Terry: An ATM Love Story

If money is the root of all evil, why do we all need it? This morning I looked into my wallet and sadly found that it was empty. Not even a single buck. Not a good situation when you have a friend in the mall offering 50% off Nike Shoes for today only. Being the lazy I person I am, I Googled the closest Wells Fargo ATM that was on the way to the mall. It was an area I wasn't too familiar with, but I was able to find it.

The bank was in a small industrial area. I drove into the parking lot and noticed that there was just one ATM machine outside. I could see a woman with one of those personal shopping carts from the 50s at the ATM. I parked my car and got out in the 90 degree weather and proceeded towards the bank. This bank is closed on Saturdays, which at the time meant nothing to me since I just needed to get a few bucks out of the ATM.

As I approached the ATM I noticed that the woman at the ATM was of a foreign descent. I'm going to be politically correct and not mention what country she's from. I'll give you a hint and tell you it starts with CHIN (now you be a clever cookie and figure out the rest). I'm not going to blame her race, nor the fact that she is a woman. No, that would not be wise. I might though, blame it on the gallon of milk she was drinking from in 90 degree weather. Or simply that she could not speak English. Whatever the reason, Terry (I saw her name on her ATM card) could not seem to get her money deposited.

I am a very passive person. I waited there in the heat and watched Terry struggle getting her dollars into the machine. (Wells Fargo ATMs have their machines process without envelopes so you can just deposit the cash and the bills get scanned. Its also made to take 50 bills at once.) I wish Terry knew this, because she was trying to deposit one bill at a time. After each bill was scanned she would say she was finished with her transaction, yet would be confused as to why her ATM card would pop out.

Five minutes passed. Suddenly I wasn't the passive person I've known myself to be. I got bold and approached her. I figured I was either going to help her now or strangle her later. I chose to help her now. Since she didn't know English I think she believed I was trying to rob her since she had a stack of bills in her hand. I told her she can put all the bills in at the same time and through enough hand gestures it became apparent to her that I was trying to help. So she starts putting in the bills and everything is dandy. It finally worked for her. Yay. She ended her transaction and her ATM card came out. I'm thinking thank God. I can get my money go.

I like to thank God often. God likes this. If God had a Facebook he'd click the Like button. I've learned that God also has a sense of humor.

Just when I thought it was going to be my turn at the ATM, good ol' Terry went into her purse and pulled out more money. She wasn't done yet. She once again put her ATM card in again to deposit more money, but ran into a new problem. She maxed out the amount of transactions for the day. Lord only knows how long she was there before I got there. At this point there was a small line of Terry protestors behind me. She didn't get it. I couldn't explain it to her either. I don't know the universal language for "you can't use this atm card for the rest of the day, now go home."

I told her to step to the side so others can go since she was having problems. I specifically, told her "Let us go first, then you can try again." I don't know what she thought I said, but she nodded and continued to try and deposit money. Even the ATM machine was beeping at her as if to tell her "go away." People actually left. They didn't feel like waiting. It seriously took Terry 10 minutes before she gave up. Funny part is, I ended up not buying anything at the mall.

Go Dodgers?

The sky will burn at forty-five degrees.
Fire approaches the great new city.
By fire he will destroy their city,
A cold and cruel heart,
Blood will pour,
Mercy to none.
-Nostradamus

What you just read was a prediction of the future written by Nostradamus back in the year 1550. As many of his other predictions, it is very vague and left open for interpretation. After going to Game 1 of the NLCS, I have concluded that Nostradamus was predicting about what would happen to the city of Los Angeles if the Dodgers were to win the World Series in 2009.

On June 14, 2009, the Los Angeles Lakers won their 15th NBA championship in dominating fashion. Fans flocked to the Staples Center to celebrate...and by celebrate I mean riot. Lakers fans looted stores, destroyed busses and set things on fire. Pretty much everything the vikings did back in the 10th century. Apparently the average IQ of a Lakers fan is on the jersey of Kobe Bryant. I'm not saying all Lakers fans are stupid, I'm just saying that there are a majority of mentally challenged fans that bring down that average. Sadly, I believe the Dodgers have that exact same fan base.

The people I worry about are like Jose here on the left. He's at a Lakers celebration, wearing a Dodgers jersey, participating in some sort of spiritual burning-of-the-branch-if-your-team-won-the-championship ritual. If you look closely he's flashing some sort of gang sign. I think Jose is trying to tell us something. Perhaps a warning of things to come.

I am actually wanting a Los Angeles Dodgers vs. Los Angeles Angels (of Anaheim) World Series. I believe it will help Los Angeles' failing economy, plus be damn good baseball. I just fear the destruction this freeway series may bring. It would be epic. I could see it looking like a Roland Emmerich movie. If you don't know who he is, he directed movies such as Indepedence Day, Godzilla, The Day After Tomorrow and the upcoming 2012. The man loves his destruction. Unfortunately so do Lakers/Dodgers fans.

Hello

My name is Jason...

and this is a dancing sheep.