Thursday, January 15, 2009

Who would have thought?

That my grandpa rides a fixie?


So I come home from my last day of winter session (thank God), and I see an old looking man in my backyard, with tools everywhere, upgrading his bike? Lo and behold it was my grandpa. Who in their right minds would have thought that my grandpa, was a gearhead? I hung out and chit-chatted with him for a bit about his bike. Now granted his bike isn't no Bianchi, surprisingly he did put a lot of money into aftermarket gears and junk. Hopefully I won't catch him night riding with his posse or anything like that.

Oh and if you look closely, he's still in his PJs. Hah!

Saturday, January 10, 2009

Fatty & Me

So as you may all know, I'm a serious dog lover. I love dogs of all breeds, shapes, sizes, and color. While growing up, I've always had a dog by my side to raise hell among the streets. In total I've had about 4 dogs thus far, 1 of which died because it was ran over by a car. I guess you can say this turn of event really traumatized me and caused a tighter bond between me and any dog, even random dogs on the street. Whenever I see upcoming roadkill on the street, I always pray that it's not a dog. Cats? Meh, not attached to them as much as dogs. I think cats are only bringing it upon themselves to be hit by cars by creeping the streets at night like that. I promised myself that if I were to ever see anyone abuse a dog, I would beat the shit out of them. Dogs are supposed to a man's best friend, a companion that keeps us sane from our significant others.




Meet Fatty, a natural born hell raiser. He is literally a re-incarnation of Dennis the Menace or a distant cousin of Marley. I would consider him to be the world's worst dog, but also the world's best dog... sometimes. He does things like steal your food, steal your socks, steal your bras, steal your panties, steal your boxers, rip your shirts, rip your pants, push toddlers down, pee on printers, run outside whenever the door's open, eat rat poison, chew on wires, chew on blankets, and most importantly, mark 20+ spots around your neighborhood even when out of ammo. Despite all of this he's also my buddy, and my partner in crime.



Speaking of Marley, I went to go see Marley & Me last week and I have to say, that is one fucking sad movie. Here, Michelle and I thought it would be a straight comedy flick that portrayed a dog exactly like Fatty. I suppose you can categorize it as a comedy, that is, until near the end. I won't say exactly what happens, but I bet you can figure it out. I really wish I had read the book prior to this movie, so that you know, I can at least prepare myself for this kind of stuff. Or better yet, have a decent friend who read the book would actually warn me about it. But no, like a fool I ran full speed into what I thought would be a purely comical movie, and later being sucker punched in the face with some serious sad shit. What the fuck was the director thinking? At least ease us into it, give some kind of indication that something truly sad is going to happen. Take for example P.S. I love you. That was also a sad movie, but the director made it clear somewhat after beginning of the movie that you better prepare for some sad shit coming up. Another example? I Am Legend. You knew after the dog got bit by the zombie dogs that Will Smith was going to have to put him down... Seriously, Michelle and I had absolutely no idea that Marley & Me would turn out like that. On one scene we see Marley wreaking havoc, then suddenly the next scene we see him old, and sick. What the fuck is that shit? I hate to admit this in a blog, but I fucking cried. Imagine me, one of the few guys in the theater hall, using all his strength to hold back from making sobbing noises. I'll admit it, I was trying to act as cool as I can be. But no dice. To my left, Michelle is sniffing and sobbing like a bitch. To my right, some people slightly sobbing. In the back of me, some sniffing here and there. Me? Naw, I didn't sob. Fuck that, Thomas doesn't sob. My face however, looked like I got shot with a water hose. I could literally taste the saltiness. My eyes were red, and my glasses had dry water marks all over the inside. I had my hood up the whole time. It's coo, no one noticed... I hope. Fuck that movie. It was a good movie, but fuck that movie. I will not buy the dvd when it comes out. For the exact same reason why I didnt by I Am Legend's dvd. Fuckers.

Sunday, January 4, 2009

The New Year

New year's resolution: Get a JOB.

Don't you just hate it when you run into someone you know and while chit-chatting they ask you "oh do you still work at American Eagle?" and after replying "no I left about a month ago," they ask "so where do you work now?" you have to say: "nowhere hahah.... just bumming it....." Well I do. Most people could give a shit about what they do as long as they get paid a lot. But the reality of it is that it's hard finding a job that perfectly suits me nowadays. You could probably say by working at American Eagle for 3+ years it really traumatized me with the whole retail business. Then again working anywhere for 3+ years would probably make you hate the things you do as well. But for me, I'm quite sick of retail. Customers (people in general) are fucking pigs. Our capitalist American society could give a shit about what others go through to "serve" them, whether it be corporate management or down to the consumer side. Is it really that hard to refold a t-shirt? Is it really that hard to NOT cut people/hours? Is it really that hard to you know, care what others go through? "No, my shopping time is more valuable than your daily grind time. No, our company's net profits need to over exceed previous years in order for us to pay the Chinese kids to make and print the shirts for us."

Sorry, originally this post was going to be along the lines of how good my holiday was but now I've succumbed to full rage mode on the retail business.

So for me, I'm currently looking for the "right job." To simply put it: a place where customers can't wreak "too much" havoc.